


KICKS

by mypassionfortrash



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Butt Plugs, D/s, F/M, Medical Kink, Pegging, Physical Abuse, Strong d/s themes later on, roger's a customer, you're the owner of a sex shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypassionfortrash/pseuds/mypassionfortrash
Summary: Roger visits the seediest shop in London in search of a kinky Valentine’s day gift for his girlfriend. He thinks he’s a great lay and he thinks he’s seen it all. He’s also dating one of the sexiest women in the country. It should be a recipe for sexual heaven for Roger, but he soon realises he has a lot to learn, and he keeps coming back to Kicks for more than just the odd ball gag or leather collar!
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 44





	1. The Valentine's rush.

**Author's Note:**

> A NEW WIP DON'T @ ME THIS IS A VERY STRESSFUL TIME. Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is much appreciated!

Valentine’s day was always hectic at Kicks, despite the locals being loathed to admit that they satisfied their fiendish fancies there – even for a few days of the year.

And for you, it meant working overtime to guarantee that the merchandise looked as tantalising as ever. It gave you the chance to let your creativity run wild, but you couldn’t go overboard with latex-clad, strap-on wearing mannequins in the front window. After all, the locals were still prudes.

While you were busy in the stockroom, filling a box of dildos for distribution, the bell above the front door chimed. It was a Wednesday evening. Things were winding down for the day. And you had assumed you’d be undisturbed until closing time.

Evidently not.

Your eyes rolled. “I’ll be through in a minute!”

“No need, take your time!”

When the cardboard box at your feet was brimming with rubber dongs and silicone schlongs, you hauled it up into your arms. But, you instantly bemoaned the decision to pile it so high that your arms buckled and you could barely peer over the top of your haul as you made your way back on to the shop floor. All you could see was a tuft of blonde hair lingering around the section of the store that housed every restraint under the sun.

“Are you alright?” the customer asked, scurrying into view.

You dumped the box on the cash desk and huffed, planting your hands on your hips. “Yep, yep, just fine. Just overextended myself.”

You turned to the customer to see a childish smirk peeking from the corners of his mouth. He was dying to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. After all, he had partied with strippers, witnessed wild drug-fuelled orgies and all kinds of debauchery. But here he was, like a naughty teenager in a sweetshop. Roger had never, ever, been in one of these kinds of shops before.

“Can I help you, handsome?” you pressed.

Roger snapped back to reality with a look of faux seriousness. His hand crept beneath the collar of his half-buttoned shirt to press against the curve between his neck and his shoulder. “Oh, yes. Yes. I’m… I’m looking for something to maybe tie my girlfriend up or something. For Valentine’s day, you know? Show her a good time.”

You found his meek facade quite endearing. Most customers had that look about them, but somehow, you expected more from the gregarious drummer of a rock and roll band. “Well,” you began, flinging out your arms. “You’ve come to the right place.”

Roger responded by diverting his gaze to his feet with an eye-crinkling smile.

You emerged from behind the cash desk and gave Roger’s arm a light slap. “Come on over and I’ll show you some of my wares.”

He trailed behind you like a shy little puppy, fumbling his hands in front of his body. “We haven’t really tried this before so I don’t know…”

“That’s ok,” you said, eyeing the wall of restraints for something to show him. You knew full well that Betsy Bright, darling of the Pirelli Calendar, coupled with Queen’s most desirable member, were destined for dirty escapades in the bedroom – even if they hadn’t got around to it yet. And they had to start somewhere.

“W-what about these? These look nice,” Roger mumbled. He held up a set of heavy-duty leather ankle and wrist cuffs for you to inspect.

“How does your girlfriend feel about all of this?” you asked.

“I don’t really know. Honestly, this was just a whim. I’ve already got her some nice knickers. Fred’s been in a couple of times. Joked that I might find something in here.”

That was a typical man response that you’d probably hear a thousand times throughout the Valentine’s frenzy and the annoyance you felt was palpable. Roger edged the cuffs back on to the display.

“Yeah, those might freak her out,” you remarked. “That’s like gifting a virgin a 14-inch dildo and no lube, and telling them to take it in ten minutes.”

“Noted.”

“Why don’t you start…” you said, trailing your hand over the display until you found what you were looking for. “With these?” You held up a set of satin straps for Roger to gaze at. “Much less intimidating. Really versatile. And they come in all kinds of colours.”

Roger took them and allowed the material to fall through his fingertips. “These are nice,” he said, dipping into the bag of department store goodies that hung from his wrist. When he lifted his hand, a whisper-thin, bottle green g-string dangled from his index finger. “Got any to match this?”

“Betsy Bright’s gonna look fantastic in those,” you said, handing him another set of straps.

He couldn’t meet your gaze and the flush of pink that spread from his chest to his jaw gave away even more of his embarrassment. “I hope so,” he said quietly.

“I can throw in a blindfold and a nice little scarf gag for an extra tenner if you want?”

Roger’s eyes were elsewhere; they darted around his surroundings with a coy curiosity. “That sounds great.”

“Do you want me to ring these up for you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, trailing behind you.

You could feel Roger’s eyes on you as you rang his kinky starter pack through the till and bagged them up for him. Every time you moved, his eyes moved with you. But when you looked up, he quickly looked away, towards the box of dildos beside you. “That’s twenty quid please,” you said, handing him his bag.

He gave you the money from his shaking hand and returned his eyes to the box. Intrigue got the better of him and made him pick up the biggest toy in there. He marvelled at it, turning it in his hand.

“Think you could manage it?” you smirked.

His face reddened again. “Oh, I’m… I’m just… could anyone?”

You nodded slowly with your eyes bulging from your head and a scowl on your lips.

“I’d hate to be the poor woman whose undercarriage gets wrecked by that,” he mused. “How could anyone… Look! I can’t even get my hand around it.”

“Patience and a lot of lube.”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he looked at you again. “Have you? How did you… what?”

You giggled. “No! God no. But it’s possible. I think you’re curious, now though, aren’t you? I reckon you could take that if you really stretched yourself.”

The dildo was dumped back in the box in protest. “No,” he whispered, furiously shaking his head.

“I think you’re more interested than you’re letting on, but that’s alright. I won’t tell.”

“I’ll stick to sticking my dick in things. Rather than having things stuck in me. If that’s alright.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Whatever tickles your pickle!”

“I’m a great lay by the way. I’m just throwing that out there.”

A sarcastic chuckle escaped your lips. “Bet you’ve never found the g-spot.”

Roger leaned on the cash desk, screwing up his beautiful features, eager for you to impart your wisdom. “Sorry, what?”

**One week later…**

Rounding the corner, the morning sun sparked a blazing path before you. Beautiful, boring shopfronts blurred past you as your speedometer approached 60. Double the speed limit, but opening time was drawing closer by the second.

Never in your time at Kicks had you been late. And you weren’t going to let that happen today.

Turning the throttle, the needle spiked at 70, and then steadily eased as the shop came into view.

When your bike came to a stop opposite the shop, you hesitated for a moment, thanking your lucky stars you decided to don a visor that day. A customer paced back and forth, but you couldn’t see their face from that far away. It was rare to find customers pounding the pavement, waiting for the doors to open. Rarer still when that customer turned out to be Roger Taylor – again.

Whipping off your helmet and crossing the street, you caught Roger’s eye. Stopped in his tracks, he struggled to fight back a broad grin. And the way his eyes strayed.

You didn’t look at him when you slipped your key into the lock. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite customer! How’d Miss Pirelli get on? She like getting tied up?” You pushed the door open and switched on the lights. Roger followed.

“I’m not sure,” he said, scratching at the undersides of his arms as he wandered into the middle of the shop – and tried not to touch anything.

Weaving in and out of the group of catsuit-clad mannequins in the front window, you stopped and narrowed your eyes at Roger. “What do you mean: you’re not sure?” you asked, pulling up the blinds. “Don’t you talk?”

“Sure, as soon as I’ve spaffed my load down her tits and we’re lying there all sweaty and exhausted, I just... just turn to her and ask,” he paused, lowering his voice and pressing his hand to the side of his mouth, “darling did you like those silk ties and how was the little feather duster I tickled your fanny with? Sure!”

You shook your head and wandered over to Roger. “So you don’t do a thorough post-match analysis? How on earth do you communicate? Jesus Christ, Roger!”

“I think she liked it! Ok?”

“So you’re back for that monster cock you saw last week?” you asked with fake glee.

Roger crossed his arms and jutted out his hip. “No, actually.” As quickly as his face clouded over with indignation, it dropped even more into a serious gaze. “I was hoping you could give me some advice.”

You seemed to understand that this was unusual for Roger and that he wasn’t exactly used to opening up like this. “Coffee?”

He perked up ever so slightly, his arms dropping down by his sides. “Coffee.”

Roger followed you on your way into the back room, but he lingered just at the door and watched you make the coffee.

“I’ve got some chocolate digestives if you want some. You know, in case you need to eat your feelings,” you joked.

“Wouldn’t say no,” he laughed. “I don’t think I’m quite at that point just yet.”

“Right,” you began, thrusting Roger’s coffee into his hand on your road back to the shop floor. “Tell me all of your woes, drummer boy.”

You and Roger hauled yourselves on to stools on opposite sides of the cash desk. He looked down, staring into the cup in his hands. And then he looked up. “Actually I think I will have a biccy, please.”

Without a word, you plucked a single chocolate digestive from the packet and slid it towards him like a seedy bartender. But you kept your finger on it when he tried to take it.

He shot you a frustrated glare.

“A moment on the lips and all that,” you quipped, “I’ll give you this if you tell me what’s bugging you.”

Roger puffed out his cheeks and maintained eye contact with you – he looked like he was begging, but you wouldn’t budge even with his fingers planted on the outer edges of the now melting chocolate biscuit.

“Come on. That layer of chocolate’ll be long gone before you’ve ‘fessed up!”

“This is weird, talking to someone I don’t even know about it.”

You shrugged. “I sell naughty tapes to sweaty old men and rubber dolls to greaseballs with bad breath – and I have to smile about it. Trust me, this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s going to happen to me today. Spill the beans.”

Roger tilted his head to the side with a coy smile. He wasn’t sure where to begin or how to verbalise his feelings on the matter. “Ok. So last week went well. I think she liked it. And I think she wants more of that but…” Roger trailed off. His eyes darted in the air as if he was reading from a script he had tried to commit to memory. But he was lost.

“Right, eat that,” you instructed, letting go of the biscuit.

Roger took it, dunked it in his coffee and took a bite. “It’s just,” he began through his mouthful, “it didn’t feel right for me.”

Even if you hadn’t the foggiest idea what Roger meant by that, you still made a good show of pretending that you did, nodding and dishing out an understanding, “Ah, I get you. Takes a bit of getting used to.”

Roger was dunking the other half of his biscuit when he continued. “I just didn’t feel comfortable with it, you know? I like sex. Love sex. But I felt like I’d rather have all of that done to me. And it just gets really tiring when she expects me to… perform... all the time. She wants me to pull her hair and put my hands around her neck… spank her. And I don’t know how to feel about that.” Roger finished pouring his heart out by lifting his biscuit out of his mug. It was sodden and fell apart upon removal, much to Roger’s disdain. “Well, that’s my coffee ruined.” He looked back up at you. “So yeah.”

“Have you tried – I don’t know – telling her this?”

“I did, but she was kind of dismissive about it. She told me it’s no big deal. But I’m intrigued. I want that… but for me.”

“Well, you need to figure out if it’s a crucial part of your relationship. Are you serious with Betsy?”

Roger shrugged. “She’s fun to look at, and she’s always, you know, up for it. But it’d be nice to let go for a bit. I’m not even sure how I’d feel about doling out any of the rougher stuff that she wants to try. Plus she’s a bit of a bimbo, you know?” he added, cupping his hands around a pair of imaginary breasts on his chest. “Not much going on in the brain.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last bit and just tell you how it is,” you stated. “So. The way I see it is you’ve got two – maybe three – problems here,” you announced, sitting up straight. “Number one: the Venn diagram between your kinks and your girlfriend’s kinks don’t really align. She expects you to be just as savvy and into it as she is, and I’m gonna hazard a guess here, you haven’t been as adventurous as she has. Sound right?”

“Right,” Roger nodded enthusiastically.

“Number two: you’re apprehensive because you’re not as savvy as you thought you were. You’re not comfortable diving into all the debauchery she wants, because you’ve still got much to learn.”

“Yep.”

“And third: I think you’d rather be submissive in bed.”

Roger thought about that final point for a moment. His brow furrowed as he took a sip of his coffee.

“I think I’ve nailed it,” you said.

“I think you have. Maybe.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Roger’s eyes lightened. “I’m going to need to have a long, hard think about that one, aren’t I?”

“You’re damn right you do.”


	2. 50 ways to leave your lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betsy Bright cracks her whip and quashes Roger’s kinky dreams before they’ve even taken flight. Inexperience and Betsy’s shortage of enthusiasm, coupled with a lack of aftercare, have excruciating consequences for him and he ends up back at Kicks seeking more advice from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Betsy Bright was cute.

Betsy Bright was rich.

Betsy Bright had big green eyes and wore dark crimson lipstick.

But above all, Betsy Bright didn’t have a clue.

So much so that you were certain that what she piled into her basket on her first visit to Kicks would have excruciating consequences for her boyfriend.

That much you knew.

You were sure she did, too.

But she didn’t want your help, even if you trailed behind her, watching her like a hawk. Everything she picked up, you questioned, as the knot inside your stomach tightened like badly-rigged Shibari.

“Have you tried wax play before?” you asked as she bundled a pack of candles into her cart. They were skin-safe, but could still cause a shocking amount of pain if you didn’t know how to use them properly.

Betsy shrugged. “Can’t be that hard, can it? Tie him up, drip some wax on him. He’ll love it.”

It was that hard. It took you years to master that art and even then you still managed to burn yourself if things got too heated during a scene.

Then she moved to the hoods.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to pair the candles with one these if he’s – you’re – not used to it,” you cautioned.

“It’s just as well the customer is always right, then, because I think it’s a fantastic idea,” she said, flashing you a steely glare. She reached out her elegant red-nailed fingers and brushed over the myriad of options. Spandex. Latex. Leather. Lace. Rubber. Eye holes. Nose holes. Mouth holes. No holes. Some came with gags, bits and blinkers, and others came with phallic objects attached to the mouth. Some even locked. “It’s your fault he wants to try all of this.” Her hand settled on a red latex gimp mask with nothing but two nose holes and a lock around the neck. “I think this is perfect,” she said. “Don’t you think.”

Your eyes widened as you nodded. Then you retreated behind the cash desk, hoping that the distance would lower your apprehension. But when she sauntered over to the impact play section, your heart sank.

Betsy bright didn’t go for a cute little riding crop or even a small, soft paddle. She bypassed canes and cat o’ nine tails in many different guises. Instead, she settled on a whip.

You knew she wasn’t going to be talked out of her purchases, as harmful as they would be to Roger. But you could at least try your best to mitigate any pain or discomfort for him. After all, you kind of liked him – and you had a duty.

You did a patrol of the shop, picking up items that might help save Roger from bleeding or dropping too hard, too fast. As Betsy came over to the cash desk and dumped her basket, she spied them. Alcohol swabs, some lotion and a bottle of bubble bath.

She screwed up her beautiful features and succeeded in turning herself into a monster. “You’re not going to fucking sell me these on top of everything else? Don’t you think I’m spending enough in this shithole?”

“No,” you began, clinging to what little patience you had left. “I’m going to give you these for free. Aftercare’s really important and–”

“He’s a grown man. He can handle it.”

“I’m just going to put these in your bag. Whether or not Roger wants to use them is up to him,” you said.

Betsy threw her money down on the counter and reached out to grab her bag. But you held on to it. She wore an expression that could sour milk in seconds flat.

“It’s up to him. Not you,” you repeated. “Do you understand.”

“Right, I get it. Now let me get out of here.”

———————————————————————————

Roger’s back stung. His thighs burned. And his cock? It was flat as a pancake. Much to Betsy’s dismay as she moved to straddle her boyfriend to get herself off.

“I thought you enjoyed this?” she remarked, examining Roger’s limp member and ripping back the latex hood to expose his mouth.

He had to bite back tears when he spoke, unable to move away from her. He thanked his lucky stars for the hood. “I told you to ease up.”

“Oh, bollocks! What’s the point in doing this if I’m just going to fucking tickle you?” she scolded. “I’m going home, Roger. Fuck this. This is weird.”

“Can you… can you at least untie me?”

“No, I think I’ll leave you there to fester in your own filth.”

As soon as Betsy’s footsteps disappeared out of earshot, Roger gave up fighting. He let the tears flow as freely as they could until he passed out from pain and exhaustion.

—————————————————————————

Even recounting the story, Roger was on the verge of breaking down, hunched over the cash desk and staring down into his coffee cup.

“And she didn’t even untie you?” you asked, stroking his shoulder.

He flinched under your touch like a wounded animal and shook his head.

“How’s your back?”

“Fucking agony. I can’t even walk properly.”

“When you got up, was there any blood or pus on the sheets?”

He shook his head.

“Can I take a look?”

He nodded.

“Alright, I’m going to close the shop so that we won’t be disturbed. You head through into the backroom and get your top off for me. I’ll be through in a minute.”

You worked quickly, turning the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed,’ locking the door and grabbing some soothing lotion from the shelves. You wandered back through to find Roger shirtless and slouched over the countertop with his head nestled between his arms. But if that sight wasn’t sorry enough, the sight of his back was.

Deep, crimson stripes had been bored into Roger’s pale skin in places that no dominant worth their stripes would even dream of. You had to work quickly. “Betsy sure knows how to crack a whip, hm?” you said, trailing your fingers over Roger’s black and blue spine. “You’re lucky this hasn’t come up in welts just yet. Because you don’t want that.”

“I didn’t want this full stop,” Roger remarked as you continued to examine him. “Ah! Fuck – not there!”

Your fingers brushed over the spot where his kidneys were. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah. Hurts.”

“Hold on, I think I’ve got some lidocaine gel here somewhere.”

“Who the hell just has lidocaine sitting around?”

“People who do this on a regular basis.” You rifled around in the first aid box – specially adapted for the specific needs of the business – and pulled out the tube, along with some rubber gloves and sachets of alcohol swabs. “Now hold still. I’m gonna disinfect these first.”

“Oh! Oh, you bitch!” Roger cursed, sinking his teeth into his knuckles. “Oh, you fucking bitch. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh, you heathen. Betsy’s got nothing on you. You’re cruel, cruel, I tell you! Oh…” He paused, feeling the cool, numbing sensation of the lidocaine on his wounds. “Oh god.”

“Like that?” you asked.

“That’s nice.”

Roger’s muscles relaxed as you swapped the swabs and lidocaine for lotion, working it into his skin. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as the burning on his skin subsided and his eyes fluttered closed; allowing himself to be transported to a universe of sheer bliss that he truly deserved.

“Now we’re loosening you up,” you hummed. “How are you feeling.”

“A lot better,” he said. “Thank you.”

“That’s alright. Never ever let someone strike you near your spine, lungs or kidneys. Especially not with a whip. They do a lot of damage.”

“Tried to tell her to stop,” he mumbled.

“I know,” you said, attempting to soothe him.

“Don’t think I’ll be trying anything like that again in a hurry.”

“Don’t give up. It’s a bit like dating, really. You know, us mere mortals have to kiss a lot of frogs before we find someone we’re comfortable with,” you explained, kneading at Roger’s tired shoulders. “Kink’s like that too.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s a minefield. Especially for younger women. Not saying that men have it any better, but younger, more submissive, women tend to go a bit too hard, a bit too fast. And there are lots of people out there who think being dominant is all about control and inflicting as much pain as they can on someone who can’t fight back.”

“I’m terrified of doing that to someone.”

“You’d be a great dom then… I think.” You felt a chuckle vibrate through Roger’s ribcage.

“You think?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I can tell. I’ve had more bad doms than tongue could tell, so I know a – potentially – good one when I see one.”

“I’ll stick to taking it.”

“It’s always the submissive that controls a scene.”

“Right,” Roger scoffed.

“No. Really. A good dom talks to you beforehand, listens to your limits and gets creative with what they can do to make you feel… something. And if it’s too much, they listen to their sub and know when to drop it right back. Or stop altogether.”

“Doesn’t sound like Betsy at all,” he said. “So which one are you?”

“A bit of both.”

“Does it go hand-in-hand with who you’re with?” he asked. “Is it important to your relationships?”

“Not really. It’s just acting… playing. And I like to keep it separate from sex – or love – if I can. The two don’t have to be interlinked, I don’t think. It’s just adults… playing.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you keep it separate?”

“Have you ever had sex with someone you didn’t love, just for the sake of having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there you go.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Roger said flatly.

You didn’t respond. You just kept massaging Roger’s back with slightly more pressure.

“I know there is,” he pressed. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“Look, sex is a really special thing to me. There has to be a certain amount of feelings there before I could ever let someone near me again,” you snapped.

Roger turned to you, looking sullen. “Again? What happened to you?”

“Like I said, there are a lot of bad, controlling people out there,” you said, grabbing Roger’s shirt and throwing it to him. “And besides, have you thought about what you’re going to do with Betsy?”

“What’s that song?” Roger asked, buttoning his shirt. “Paul Simon…”

“Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover?”

“That’s the one,” he said following you out on to the shop floor. “It’s gonna be in my head all day now. Might give me some inspiration.”

“Seriously, Roger,” you began, “Please have a think about it. I know I barely know you, but I don’t want her hurting you. And I don’t want her to put you off exploring what you’re into… beyond shagging everything that moves.”

“I’ll think of something,” he said.

Without thinking, he held out his arms and threw them around you in a bone-crushing embrace. He smelled divine. Like smoke and amber and snowy pine forests on a winter’s day. And, rocking from foot to foot together, you couldn’t resist drinking in that intoxicating scent as your bodies melted together.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Just doing my job.”

“I don’t think you get paid to give back massages.”

“I get paid to give good advice though.”

The rocking suddenly stopped when something caught Roger’s eye over your shoulder in the corner of the shop. “What’s that?” he asked, still hugging you.

“What’s what?” you asked, lifting your face from the crook of his neck.

Roger let go and bolted over to the distraction.

You let out a nervous laugh when you realised what had ripped Roger’s attention away from you. “Oh yeah. That, dear Roger, is a fucking machine.”

Roger’s jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of the lewd and unsightly contraption. “Well, that’s just genius! How does it work?”

You rolled your eyes and picked it up, then you plonked it on the cash desk. “Basically,” you began, pointing to the plate at the end of the long metal rod, “you get a big fat rubber cock, and attach it to this with a suction cup or something. Then, you lie back, or get on all fours, whichever position tickles your fancy, hit the remote control and get the life pounded out of you.”

“Christ, that’s brilliant!”

“No man required,” you said, folding your arms.

Roger grinned and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “I absolutely love female empowerment, don’t you?”


	3. Big red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Roger well shot of Betsy, he’s now free to explore the world of kink and all it has to offer him! But before he can start playing, he’s got to learn how to do it safely. You suggest that he meets two of your best friends to watch them play, and to get some advice and inspiration, to help him discover what he really wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for all of your lovely feedback – much appreciated! Enjoy!

You got your second wind when the clock was a few strokes shy of 5. A sudden burst of energy; an overwhelming urge to accomplish something. Today, you had a shipment of new butt plugs to put on display.

They came in all shapes, colours, textures and sizes. Picking up one of the larger models, ‘Big Red,’ even you with your open mind and questionable taste in fetishes, wondered whose rectum could expand a whole five inches to accommodate it. You didn’t need to wonder much; they attracted a very specific type of customer, and you’d know them anywhere. You shook your head and loaded five of them on to one of the metal hangers with a smile.

Then, the bell above the door tinkled.

You were so close to emptying the box at your feet and you had to bite back your annoyance when you turned to greet your customer.

All of those feelings subsided when you realised that it was Roger, standing in the doorway with a contented smile on his lips.

“People might talk if you keep showing up here,” you said, going back to your work. “Did you do it?”

Roger wandered up beside you and observed every move your made. “Hello to you too.” He looked down and reached into the box on the floor, plucking out a slim, blue plug. “And yes, I did do it.”

You took the plug – ‘Little Blue’ – from Roger’s grasp and arranged it on the display alongside others of its kind. “How did she take it?” You caught him scowling out of the corner of your eye. “That bad?”

“Weird.”

“You’re in a sex shop. What could be weirder?”

He slipped one of the large red plugs off of the hanger and read the packaging. Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. He was unusually quiet.

“She didn’t take it well then?”

“She took it surprisingly well. But she told me why she did what she did.”

You turned to him and folded your arms, preparing to feel your rage towards Betsy Bright reach a simmer. “I’m listening.”

“She said she was jealous.”

“Of?”

“She said that I have enough bother keeping it in my pants and I’m going on tour soon. Thought I was getting tips so I could go off and find someone ‘more like me’ while I was away, and the jealousy got the better of her. She wasn’t into it.”

A scowl smacked across your face like a slapped arse. “Well, it’s not your fault she’s bad at communicating before there’s a problem. And it doesn’t excuse what she did to you.”

“I know,” he sighed, closing his eyes with a smile. “I’m well shot of her now, thank god.”

“So, what now?”

Roger held up ‘Big Red’ with a grin.

“Roger, no.”

Roger laughed. “What’s a guy got to do to get someone to shove this up his bum?”

“Unspeakable things,” you whispered. “Terrible, awful, sordid things.”

“I’m assuming you start with ‘Little Blue’ and work up to ‘Big Red’ then?”

You tilted your head from left to right. “Yes and no.” Then you pondered. “There’s a couple of steps and a lot of lube in between.”

“And do you wear them when… I don’t know… you’re… doing it?” He stuttered, grinding his hips in a way that was equal parts seductive comical and seductive.

But he was so coy, especially for someone so renowned for their ability to seduce and conquer; it made you giggle. His curiosity was refreshing. “You don’t have to have sex with them in, but they do feel amazing when you do – for men and women.” You searched the vast array of merchandise for something less lewd. “If you’re starting out with anal play, fingers and a lot of lube are fine.” Then your hand settled on a small glass plug. “And then if you want to transition to toys, I like these. They start off quite small. They’re easy to clean and have a really nice weight to them. And you can wear these during sex, or even out and about for small amounts of time. You can increase the size when you’re comfortable, and the duration that you wear them for.”

Roger’s eyes were like saucers when you finished your explanation.

“It makes fitting, you know, dicks and stuff in there a bit smoother,” you added nonchalantly, scratching the back of your head.

Roger elbowed your side and flounced into you. “Not that you’d know, hm?”

You felt a rush of blood go straight to your cheeks. Eager to dodge the question, you loaded the merchandise on to the display in double-time.

“Well, one thing’s for certain,” Roger said, handing you various butt plugs for you to sort. “I don’t want anything in my arse. Ever.”

Grateful that Roger’s fleeting attention was off of your own posterior, you couldn’t help but make another remark. “You might like it. It’s even more fun for guys.”

“Right.”

“I can get a guy off without even touching his cock,” you boasted.

“Somehow, I don’t think a couple of fingers up my bum are going to do it.”

“No, but if you know which spots to prod, the results are… explosive.”

Like a naughty schoolboy, Roger shot you a bashful smirk while shaking his head.

“Please yourself.”

“I still want to start learning about all of this,” he sighed. “And maybe find someone to do it with.”

“You need to learn how to play safely and have a think about what you’re ok with before you even think of playing with a partner.”

“How do I do that?”

“There are places you can go to speak to people who do this,” you hinted. It was a gamble, but you knew it would be an eye-opener for him. “Have you ever been to Doxy?”

“Doxy? What’s that?”

“It’s a dungeon on the other side of town.”

“Like a medieval dungeon?”

You reached out and stroked the side of Roger’s crimson-cheeked face. “You sweet summer child.”

Roger swatted your hand away. “What’s Doxy? Tell me!” he whined like a petulant child.

“Well, sometimes people go there to play. You can rent rooms, throw kinky parties there. Some people run entire businesses out of there.”

“Like kinky prozzies?” he grinned. “You’re telling me to go and see a kinky prozzie?”

“No, Roger,” you sighed, turning to him. “What I’m saying is, do you want to go there tonight with me? I know a couple of people who might be able to give you lots of helpful advice.”

Roger bounced on the balls of his feet like a badly trained, and very excited, puppy. “Ok.”

“And please, for the love of God, when you meet Andie, don’t call her a kinky prozzie.”

“What is she then?”

“She’s a dominatrix.”

“Nice.”

* * *

“She wants me to go with her to a place called ‘Doxy.’ Have you heard of it?” Roger asked, twirling the phone cord around his slender fingertips.

“I’m afraid that’s a world away from what I’m into, my dear,” Freddie’s matter of fact tone crackled over the line. “The girl knows her stuff, though. You should trust her.”

Roger’s free hand lifted a cigarette to his lips and left it dangling. Then he wandered over to his wardrobe. “What the fuck do I wear to a bloody dungeon?”

“Teeny tiny leather shorts and one of those ghastly neckerchiefs you like.”

“Fucking hell, Fred,” Roger sighed.

“What? That’s what I would wear!”

“I don’t think we’re doing anything tonight, though, but yeah – I’ll keep that idea in the back pocket for later!” Roger rifled through his collection of clothing, cursing his decision to discard his many pairs of leather trousers at the turn of the decade.

“What did she say you were going to do?”

“Going to meet two of her friends.”

“That sounds like a bloody dream come true for you, dear. I don’t know why you’re getting your knickers in a twist.”

“I’m nervous.”

“Pour yourself a drink and don’t think too much on it. Enjoy yourself. She’s a lovely girl.”

Roger chuckled. “Don’t count on that. She was talking to me about butt plugs this afternoon.”

“Good luck with that, Rog,” Freddie laughed.

“Thanks, Fred.”

Roger hung up the phone and turned back to his wardrobe with a sigh. Freddie wasn’t much help and didn’t really put his mind at ease, but at least he was supportive. But he still had no idea what to wear to Doxy.

* * *

Roger tugged at the collar of his coat up against the bitter pitch-black wind. The quiet side street that Doxy was situated on was deserted and made him question whether he had the right place. Glancing up at the inconspicuous sign above the door, he knew he had at least got the name right. Maybe there were other places in London called Doxy. Maybe he had arrived at the wrong one.

He set his sights on his watch, strapped around his trembling wrist.

Two more minutes.

He knew how rich that was, coming from him. He was late for everything, and here he was, doubting your timekeeping.

So he lit another cigarette and pulled up his collar once more.

Right as the clock struck eight, you wandered down the cobbles towards the plume of pale smoke dancing in the air outside Doxy. Your fists were balled up inside the pockets of your jacket, trying to strangle the life out of the nerves you felt. You tried to make your legs move a bit faster, but the combination of sky-high heels and a freezing February night made even walking difficult.

Roger’s eyes zeroed in on the movement in their periphery; first, they were wary, and then realisation hit. He flicked his smoke to the ground and took a couple of small steps to close the gap between you and him. A coy, “Hi,” was all he could muster.

“Have you been waiting long?”

Roger swallowed hard and shook his head. “Only a couple of minutes.” Then his hand crept into the breast of his coat, slinking up to that familiar spot at the curve of his neck. A shy smile grew on his lips. “I’m so nervous.”

You brushed your fingertips over the outsides of Roger’s arms, not wanting to give away your own reservations. “It’s going to be ok,” you reassured, focusing on the way the light caught his eyes. “We’re not going to do anything. We’re only going to meet Andie and her sub, Holly, and watch how they do things. To help you stop overthinking things.”

The muscles in Roger’s arms relaxed under your touch as he took a sharp, but measured, breath. “Ok,” he nodded. “Ok. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” you smiled, linking his arm in yours. “We better get a move on.”

The descent into Doxy took forever. Step by step. Steep scarlet step by steep scarlet step. The staircase stretched on for what felt like miles below street level. The only illumination on offer came from sporadic lamps fixed to the brickwork. “You weren’t lying when you called this a dungeon,” Roger said.

You giggled when you reached the bottom of the stairs. “That’s the tip of the iceberg. Here,” you said, holding out your hand, “let me take your coat.”

Roger slipped it off and handed it to you with a smile. Then he watched you disappear towards the cloakroom, fixating on the way your hips swung like a pendulum from left to right in your skintight leather trousers. Instinctively, his fingers laced together in front of his abdomen. Without you to admire, Roger glanced around, taking in snapshots of the people around him. Latex, leather, lace. Everywhere. Suddenly, he felt underdressed for the occasion in his stonewash jeans and a cosy jumper. But one thing struck him. For all the clubs that Roger had visited, he had never been inside a place like Doxy; there were no bars or disco balls, no dance floor and no gaggles of drunken hens. Instead, everything moved slowly in a sultry haze. People dripped into the corridor to Roger’s right; it was lined with rooms. Roger’s mind wandered, imagining what the people did behind those doors. He truly was a fish out of water.

You sauntered back to Roger now without your jacket, allowing him an unrestricted view of your outfit. He focused a bit too intently on the sliver of cleavage your black bralette put on display. So much so that he missed what you were saying to him. Not once, but twice.

He snapped back to reality with a stern click of your fingers in front of his eyes. He recoiled at the sound. “Sorry,” he said, casting his gaze towards his shoes.

“Do you want to go through? They’re going to start at half-past,” you said, looking at your watch.

Roger’s eyes lit up as he stood up straight. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you said, turning on your heel. It took him a moment to catch up, and when he did, you leaned in close to him so he could hear you. “Now, remember – don’t call them kinky prozzies.”

Roger’s face bunched into a tickled grin. His body nudged against your own, reinforcing his amusement.

The pair of you marched down the long, red corridor until you reached the second door from the end on your left. The black door had a small, shiny plaque that read, ‘medical bay.’

Roger’s eyes shifted to you, his eyebrows hiking high on his forehead.

You smirked at him and knocked on the door.

Holly answered the door looking like her usual excitable self. “You’ve made it just in time!” She said, throwing her arms around the two of you. “Andie’s getting antsy!”

You and Roger stepped into the room to find Andie puttering around over a tray of intimidating instruments. Needles, syringes and speculums were the only ones you could recognise, but that was enough to send a steely chill through your spine. She wore an aqua coloured latex gown, complete with red boots and gauntlets, and a mask obscuring the lower half of her face.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she drawled. You could tell from her ocean coloured eyes that she was smiling.

“It’s good to see you too, Sister,” you grinned.

“So this is your friend?” she asked, nodding towards Roger.

Holly, standing there in a black silk robe, drew her hand down Roger’s arm. “I like him,” she said.

“You know, we could have lots of fun with him,” Andie remarked.

It earned a nervous giggle from Roger. His eyes struggled to focus on just one thing. From the stirrups at the end of the bed, to the intimidating-looking gas mask on the table beside it. “This is… this is… different,” he choked.

“It’s going to be so much fun,” Hollie beamed, shaking Roger’s arm. “Have you been here before?”

“He’s completely new to this,” you said. “And he still needs breaking in.”

Andie arched one of her over-lined and exaggerated eyebrows like she already knew what was happening – before you and Roger did.

“So what’s on the agenda tonight?” you asked, thrusting your hands into your back pockets.

“Just an examination,” Holly said, perching herself on the edge of the bed. “With a twist!”

“Like…” Roger asked, gesturing towards his nether regions, “A ‘down there’ examination?”

You, Andie and Holly exchanged knowing looks. When Roger cottoned on, his mouth fell open.

“Why don’t you observe from the gallery?” Andie suggested, gesturing towards the door in the far corner of the room. “Don’t want you two making this any more awkward than it has to be for our patient here.”


	4. Three rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After watching Andie and Holly play at the dungeon, you and Roger go for a drink. Their scene might have been too extreme for either of you, but it still gave Roger some ideas on playing safely and opens up a conversation about how he wants to take his exploration further. And he has an interesting proposition for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading guys!

Tension radiated from Roger’s body by the end of Andie and Holly’s scene. You and Roger observed the whole thing from behind a two-way mirror. Every so often, Roger’s eyes would bulge, or his teeth would sink into his knuckle. He was on the edge of his seat from start to finish. He didn’t make a sound.

The show concluded with Andie forcing a series of mind-bending orgasms through Holly’s body with a Hitachi wand as she plucked a series of needles from her labia, which were spread in a clamped metal ring. Holly writhed against the industrial straps around her wrists, her waist and her thighs, but she just couldn’t evade Andie’s onslaught. With every wave, the edge of the table dripped with Holly’s arousal. The sheer amount of pleasure left her chest heaving and soaked in sweat. And when it became too much to handle, all Holly could do was gasp one word. “Red.”

Andie backed off with the wand and immediately undid Holly’s restraints. Too tired to move at first, Holly lay on the table trying to catch her breath as Andie fussed over her. Andie stroked her hair and dabbed away the blood on Holly’s skin with cotton swabs which eventually turned to ice packs to thwart any bruising or swelling.

Holly was so unsteady when she sat up that Andie had to prop her upright. A scarlet glow had engulfed her pale skin, and the muscles in her thighs still seemed to spasm. She needed time to adjust.

You leaned into Roger, lips close to his ear. “I think we should leave, give them some privacy.”

Roger’s eyes flicked to you in the darkness. “Ok.”

You and Roger didn’t roam far from Doxy, holing yourselves up in the bar across the street. Roger couldn’t contain his thoughts on what he had just witnessed. The grin on his face just grew and grew as the words poured out, recounting what Andie and Holly did. “And Holly,” Roger concluded, leaning back in his seat. “Holly fucking took it like a champ!”

A perky voice pierced through Roger’s assessment. “I really did, didn’t I?” Holly chirped, scooting into your booth beside Roger.

“It was amazing!” Roger beamed. “How are you feeling after all of that?”

“Really, really tired. Andie and I are just grabbing a drink while we wait for our taxis. Mind if we join you?” She said, glancing at you.

“By all means,” you said. “I’m sure Roger’s full of questions for you.”

Roger smiled and seemed to turn in on himself when Holly focused on him.

“Hit me!”

“That’s my job!” Andie said, putting their drinks down on the table and sitting down next to you.

“Oh, hello! Why were you saying, ‘yellow’ a lot? I kind of know what ‘red’ means, but what does ‘yellow’ mean?”

“We use a traffic light system, so when I’m approaching my limit in terms of pain or intensity, I can just say it, and Andie can drop things right back and slow down for a while. Red’s more when I want things to stop. It doesn’t need to be because of pain, either. Back there, I was pretty close to blacking out. Andie’s pretty careful, but it’s always important to use your safe word just in case.”

Andie nodded: “Some people might use one, but for more intense and longer sessions, traffic lights are better.”

“And when you’re using gags, you can give your submissive something to hold. A set of keys or something with a bit of weight is perfect,” you added. “If it gets too much, they can drop it. They might even do it subconsciously or by accident. But that’s a chance to check in with them.”

“So even though you’re having all of that done to you, you’re really in control?” Roger pressed.

“Yeah,” Holly said. “Before Andie and I started doing this on a regular basis, we made sure that we both set limits.”

“And we won’t try anything new without talking about it first,” Andie said. “The content of a scene should never be a surprise. It should be the way it’s executed – that should surprise.”

“How do you cope with the pain?” Roger asked, blinking at Andie and Holly. “Doesn’t that hurt, having the needles… downstairs?”

“When I’m not doing this, I’m a nurse,” Andie smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “But I’ve been doing both for over a decade. It’s just experience. I know how to place the needles so that Holy doesn’t bleed too much or it doesn’t hurt too much, and it won’t do her any damage. But the key is to get Holly into a headspace where she’s so turned on and excited right before you take them out.”

“It feels so good! And doesn’t hurt afterwards,” Holly chimed in. “Throw an ice pack on it, and I’m good to go!”

“Just don’t play with needles if you’re only starting out,” Andie cautioned.

Roger was in awe of Andie and Holly, listening intently to what they had to say, but you could tell he was growing impatient to have you all to himself. Every now and again, his eyes would dart your way.

Holly noticed this and kicked Andie’s shin underneath the table, tilting her head towards the door.

“I think that’s our taxis out there,” Andie said, squinting through the window next to you.

“We’d better get going,” Holly said. “It was lovely meeting you, Roger!”

“Look after this one,” Andie giggled as she stood up. Her hand fell on your shoulder. “Don’t break her heart, Roger.”

Roger wore a wonderstruck expression long after Andie and Holly left the pub.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

Roger rubbed his chin, studying you from beneath his eyelashes. “It’s all very exciting.”

“I remember that feeling. So you quite liked the medical thing, then?”

“I think studying dentistry sickened me off all of that,” he said, taking a swig of vodka. “But Andie and Holly do it well.”

“Didn’t know you studied that,” you said.

“Yeah! Hated every bloody second of it!”

“I’m not into all of that either. But there’s a world of things you could try.”

Roger looked up, his eyes moving in the air between and above you as he thought. “I just wonder how it starts. How people decide they want this?”

You spoke slowly, considering every word. “I think for me, it was a good way of developing a bit of strength. It sounds counterintuitive, but if I’m stressed, feeling some pain really cleansed me and made me better at dealing with life outside of play.”

“So it helped you cope in a way?”

“Yeah, it’s a nice way to hit the reset button. If you can take all of your negativity and cut it all off at the end of a scene. Some people like to learn discipline through it. Some people like knowing that someone else is making the hard decisions for them. Your reasons for wanting this are going to be completely different from someone else’s. And that’s ok.”

“I guess I always feel really guilty when I go away on tour. It’s always excess. Don’t get me wrong, I love touring. Love the shows and the parties. But I have a hard time reigning it in when it comes to girls,” he smiled. “I can’t keep doing that. I’m ashamed of how I am sometimes.”

“I think all of this could help you form better habits and see pleasure differently,” you began, leaning forward in your seat. “But along with that, you might have to do a bit of soul searching about why you do what you do. That’s not a kinky thing. It’s a you thing. How do you feel about not being allowed to come or have sex?”

Roger’s eyes lit up, but the colour drained from his pretty face. “I can’t imagine doing that.”

“It might be something to think about. Every time you think about having sex with someone, you could sneak off, have a little wank... And then ruin it. Condition yourself to think differently.”

Roger bit his lip. Intrigue had him leaning over the table, listening that bit more intently.

“You could be punished every time you allow yourself to come. Rewarded for how many days you manage to be good.”

His tongue poked out and brushed over his lower lip where he had just bitten. “What…” he stammered, “What kind of punishment are we talking?”

You shrugged. “That’s something you need to figure out what you’d be ok with.”

“And what are you into?”

You sighed, hooking your fingertips on the edge of the table. “When I’m in charge, I like very sensual things. Nothing lewd or filthy. A little bit of spanking. Making someone come so much that they’re shaking for hours afterwards and they beg me to stop. I love knowing that they trust me to push them. There’s something really fulfilling about it,” you smiled.

Roger was halfway towards lifting his glass to his lips when he paused. “And when you’re not in charge?”

Your stomach sank. “It doesn’t happen very often.” Suddenly your mouth felt like the Sahara. You desperately drained your glass and let the alcohol warm your chest. Dutch courage. “It’s the complete opposite. I have a bit of a humiliation kink. It comes from a fucking awful place, but it feels so cathartic. I get off on it. But it’s hard to put myself in that position and get in that headspace.”

“Does it feel safer for you to be more dominant?”

You nodded. “It builds my confidence and makes me feel more powerful and comfortable in my own skin. But also I think I know how to not be a bad one, if you know what I mean? I’ve had doms in the past who’ve just blown past all my limits. You can’t abuse someone’s trust like that. I know how that feels.”

The conversation hit a lull between you and Roger. He knew that your words came from a place of pain, but he didn’t know the specifics. The only way he could offer you comfort was with his hand, stretching out to meet your own.

“That’s why you need to find the right person for things like this. Someone who’ll respect your boundaries.” Your fingers linked with his for the second time that evening. The pads on his fingertips bled warmth into your skin as they massaged your knuckles and traced every vein they found. Exploring. “What do you think your limits would be?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, unable to rip his gaze from your hands. “I don’t want to be blindfolded. Or have needles stuck in me. There must be some other things out there that I haven’t thought of,” he half-laughed.

“We sell entire workbooks on that,” you giggled.

Roger waved his hand through the air: “One thousand and one weird fetishes you’ve never heard of!”

“You’re not far off!”

“Might have to buy it and see!”

“Can’t wait to look at your answers to some of them.”

When Roger stopped laughing, his face fell into a sweet, contented smile. “I think you’d be amazing.”

“Hm?”

“At showing me the ropes… quite literally.”

“Oh you’d love to see my ropes, wouldn’t you?” you taunted, trying to cling to your cool exterior.

“As it happens, I would. Another drink?”

“I think I need it!”

You kept your eyes on Roger as he walked over to the bar. His mannerisms. The way he carried himself. Everything about him was so boyish and elegant at the same time. And he had the prettiest rasp to his voice. You would’ve been lying if you said you hadn’t imagined him tied up and begging you for release.

“I’ll do it,” you blurted the second Roger returned.

He raised his eyebrows as he slipped back into the booth.

Your voice quietened. “If you’ll let me.”

“Really?” he asked, leaning forward. “You really want to?”

“I’ll show you everything you want me to. But I have three rules.”

“I’m listening.”

You counted each out on your fingers, stating your terms like they formed a legally binding contract between the two of you. “No kissing. No touching me unless I ask you to. And no penetrative sex.”

Roger’s smile fell slightly. “You mean I can’t even touch you?”

You seized both of Roger’s hands. “Not unless I ask you to. It goes both ways, and I need you to promise me you’ll abide by that. I told you I liked to keep kink and sex separate. Promise me you will, and I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”

Roger took a deep breath and weighed up his options with his mouth hanging open.

You swore it felt like an eternity. The knots that formed in your gut grew tighter and tighter. Until…

“Ok.”

“Really?” you asked, taken aback.

“I’m up for this.”

“Oh, thank god!”

“Thank you.”


	5. Jazz singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you and Roger nail down his limits, you finally set a date for your first kinky playdate. And, more importantly, you open him up to brand new sensations!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words!

“Scat? Like… Jazz singing?” Roger’s eyebrows hiked up. “Definite hard limit.”

“You poor thing,” you muttered, wrestling with a scantily clad mannequin.

Roger looked up at you from behind the cash desk. He shrugged. “Well, what does it mean, then?”

“It means shit.”

He scowled, sticking out his tongue. “People get off on that? Having people… shit on them? Fuck that!”

You shrugged and fastened the clasp on the harness bra you had dressed Melanie the Mannequin in. Then you assessed her hard plastic, but still very naked, rack. “Yep. People definitely get off on it,” you said, reaching for a roll of black bondage tape. Melanie didn’t have nipples, but she still looked far too nude to be front and centre in the shop window, so you bit off small strips of tape and stuck two ‘x’ shapes across her breasts. That might keep the locals quiet, you hoped.

“Definite hard limit,” he hummed, checking the box next to ‘scat’ in the book. “Ok, so watersports?”

When Melanie was safely back on display, you turned around to find Roger nodding as he continued to study the book of kinks.

“I love watersports,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean what you think it does either, Roger. And I’m not going to wee on you.”

“Wee on me?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Oh! Oh, fuck, no! Limit limit limit!”

Perching up on the opposite side of the cash desk, you grabbed the book. “Alright, so we’ve got blood, needles, breath play, scat and watersports as hard limits. I’m going to add vomit to this as well because I’m assuming you’re not into that?” you began, glancing up at Roger.

He gave a swift nod in response.

“And feet, hair removal, enemas and blindfolds as soft limits. Why the blindfolds?”

“Betsy.”

“That’s fair.”

“And you want to try orgasm denial, overstimulation, chastity, restraints, spanking, queening – for obvious reasons – as well as pegging with a question mark and… humiliation.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what pegging is,” Roger said. He knew. The peachy-pink flush that flashed over his jaw and up to his ears gave him away.

“Remember Big Red?” you asked, nodding towards the display on which Big Red lived.

His voice grew smaller as the redness seeped to his cheeks and down to his chest. “Yeah?”

“And how you said you didn’t want anything in your bum? Ever?”

Roger nodded and rubbed his palms together.

“Well, pegging is when your partner puts things up your bum.”

His teeth sank into his lower lip and tugged. “That… that sounds interesting.”

“Still want to try it?”

Roger swallowed hard. Then he nodded.

“And you know what queening is?”

“Not really, but it sounded fun,” he said enthusiastically. Then he leaned forward, furrowing his brow. “What is it?”

“It’s when I sit on your face and you…” you trailed off, flicking your tongue through your fingers.

“Oh, wow! Sign me up!”

“Let’s do that as a reward for you,” you reasoned. “And you remember all of my rules?”

Roger recited your list like a well-prepared boy scout, looking pleased with himself. “No kissing. No touching unless you ask. No penetrative sex.”

“Good.”

“I… I was also reading in the book that some people like pet names – titles – when they’re… you know.”

You laughed and looked down at your hands. They were clasped together on the desk in front of you. “You usually get around to that once you know you’re going to be playing with someone on a regular basis. Why?”

Roger shrugged and smiled sweetly. “I don’t know. I’m just curious what you’d call me.”

“I’ll have to think about that one. See what you’re like when you’re needy and begging,” you purred.

“I can’t wait,” he sighed. “When do you want to… you know?”

Your insides contracted at the thought. ‘It’s too soon,’ your brain screamed. ‘He’s not ready. You’re not ready!’ But the burn between your thighs told you otherwise. Your heart did too, fluttering inside your ribs like a caged animal dying to be set free. “Tomorrow night sound ok?” you blurted.

Roger’s eyes brightened, lighting up even in the corner of the dingy little shop he found himself visiting. “That sounds great.” He went quiet for a moment, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “What will I wear?”

“Well, you’ll be naked for most of it. It won’t matter much. Wear whatever you think will be comfortable.”

“Are we going to Doxy?”

“No, it’s probably better to start off at either your place or mine,” you explained. “Just in case things take a bad turn and you drop really badly.”

“Drop?”

“Sub drop, sorry. Sometimes if you’ve had quite an intense session, you might feel a bit sad or depressed. So it’s always a good idea to be somewhere where you can have some food, a nap, a bath, hugs. Whatever you need to get yourself feeling a bit better.”

“That makes sense,” Roger said. “I can come to you if you want?”

“Perfect. Just make sure you don’t drive to mine. I’d get a taxi there and back, but if you’re feeling shaky afterwards, you can stay the night. I have a spare room.”

“What time?”

“Eight sound alright?”

“It’s a date.”

Nerves paralysed you all day as you waited for eight o’clock to roll around – and for your playdate with Roger.

You toyed with the idea of cancelling.

You poked at the thought of feigning food poisoning or the sniffles.

And briefly entertained the notion, after spending two hours in the bath, of staying in your pyjamas for the whole session – why make the effort if you weren’t going to have sex?

But one phone call to Andie was enough to coax you into the right headspace. As much as you hated her for it.

“But I just don’t feel sexy!” you whined, rifling through your lingerie drawer. “I barely know him.”

“Well, you’ve got enough in that bloody wardrobe of yours to make yourself look sexy, don’t you? Fake it ’til you make it,” she said bluntly. “And besides, maybe this is what you need.”

“What?”

“A very attractive man that clearly wants you but can’t have you. Might do wonders for your confidence.”

You huffed, pulling out a bralette and a pair of silk french knickers.

“He’s a dish. And if you want, I’d be more than happy to take him off your hands.”

“Not necessary,” you said, shuffling out of your bathrobe. “I think I can manage.”

Andie perked up. “So what’s on the cards for tonight, then?”

Using one hand to put your knickers on was a bad idea, so you stuck the phone receiver in the crook of your neck. “What was that?”

“What are you going to do to poor princess Roger?”

“I reckon I’m gonna…” you paused, slipping on your bralette. “I think I’ll start slow. Maybe with a massage or something and work my way up.” Imagining what he’d sound like when he begged slapped a smile on to your face. “I think I’ll edge him until he’s absolutely desperate to get off and then…”

“And then what?” Andie purred.

“I’m going to let him. Over and over. And if he whines, I’ll ask him if he’d rather be belted.”

“You big softie! He’s already turned you to mush.”

“I don’t want to scare him off! And besides, I don’t want to hurt him. I think he’s still a bit hung up on what his ex did to him.”

“Listen to me, you’re going to be just fine. He’s definitely comfortable around you, and that’s the hardest part.”

“Thanks, Andie.”

“And I want details tomorrow morning!”

“I’ll call you first thing. Promise.”

“Alright, darling, I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

Perched on the end of your bed in your underwear, you assessed your reflection in the mirror just in case you had forgotten even the slightest small detail. Your hair was perfectly styled. Your make up was pristine. But you still lacked something. You just couldn’t put your finger on what.

Then the panic came back.

You had made such a big deal about separating all of this from feelings and sex and relationships, and now you found yourself worrying about what Roger might make of your appearance as if you merely existed to appeal to him. A simmering, self-directed rage got the better of you and forced you out of your bedroom in search of another unconstructive way to channel your nerves.

You found that in your drinks cupboard inside a bottle of vodka. Half measures weren’t something you did. You took the bottle and a glass back to your room, pouring yourself more than you needed as you walked. Only then did it strike you how much your hands shook. And what was missing.

At the end of your hall, a pair of stockings lay stretched across the rungs of your clothes horse with the rest of your laundry. Sinking the entire glass of vodka, a tiny lightbulb pinged to life above your head as you downed the last drop.

That’s what was missing.

The caress of nylon on your legs never failed to make you feel like nothing short of a goddess.

You scurried back into your bedroom on unsteady legs and tugged open your lingerie drawer again. Then you plucked out another pair of stockings and a garter belt. You shuffled out of your knickers and slipped on the newest additions to your outfit.

Much better.

You weren’t sure whether your newfound serenity was down to a simple pair of nylons or the triple vodka working its magic, but you felt ready to put Roger through his paces.

Until your brain interjected. Rude.

Were you going to play with him in your bedroom or the spare room?

You huffed, balling up your fists and resting them on your hips. Weighing up the pros and cons of both your options.

Play here and you wouldn’t have to waste time moving anything into the spare room.

Play there and you wouldn’t run the risk of having a sleepy Roger in your bed. After all, he was almost a stranger, and you most certainly did not have feelings for him.

You definitely didn’t like him in that way.

Or at least that’s what you told yourself, yanking open your drawer full of kinks. You knew exactly what you were looking for and quickly bundled the accessories into your arms, piling them high until you couldn’t carry any more. And then, you wandered through to the spare room.

You thanked your lucky stars that the bed was perpetually made, usually for drunk friends or when your parents came to visit. The idea of torturing one of the most sought after rockstars in the same bed that your parents occasionally slept in made you shudder. And it just wouldn’t leave your head.

Until the door buzzer pierced through your flat.

“Fuck.”

His voice was so bright when it sounded over the line: “Hi, it’s Roger!

“Come on up.”

As soon as you put the receiver down, you hurried back into the spare room to lay out everything you needed within reach. Your hands went back to trembling and your heart went back to racing. You could hear the rush of blood in your ears above the sound of yourself listing your accoutrements aloud. “Cuffs. Paddle. Lube. Oil.”

Before you knew it, Roger was at your door, giving it three sharp knocks that forced your soul from your body for a few seconds. You almost didn’t make it to the hall. Apprehension stiffened all the muscles in your legs. Even cracking the door open was a chore.

But all of that subsided when you saw Roger pacing in the landing. The first thing you noticed was how his hands clung to the collar of his coat in a white-knuckled grasp. And then the coy smile on his lips when he spoke. The way he stopped dead, but couldn’t look you in the eye. “You look nice.”

It took every ounce of restraint you had not to giggle like a giddy schoolgirl. Instead, you smiled back and stepped aside. “Come on in and make yourself at home.”

For a split second, a bolt of electricity surged through you. The fleeting graze of his coat against your arm. The heady scent of his aftershave. How he ruffled his soft blonde hair as he stood idly and awkwardly in your hall.

All you could manage was a feeble, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not going to lie, I might have had a shot of whisky before I came here.”

“I’m not going to lie, there’s a bottle of vodka sitting on my bedside table,” you laughed. “You’re still sober enough to go through with this, aren’t you?”

“It was just a shot,” Roger said, “don’t worry.”

“Ok,” you nodded. Without saying another word, you wandered over to Roger and unfastened the buttons on his coat.

His breathing hitched when you edged the heavy fabric down his arms, but he still couldn’t make eye contact with you. “Won’t be needing that,” he chuckled.

That dark-lashed gaze of yours went straight to his gut. “You won’t be needing any of it.”

“Right, yeah,” he said. “Will I… you know… take it all off?”

You arched an eyebrow, “Come through to the spare room first.” Grasping Roger’s hand, you led him through. As soon as he clapped eyes on everything laid out on the bed, his grip tightened. You turned to him to find his eyes widening. “You like the look of this?”

He gulped. Then he nodded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. I’m a bit out of practice myself. It’ll take us a bit of time to get into the swing of things.”

“Looks like you’re already in the swing of things,” he grinned. Before you could croak out a response, Roger was already undressed down to his underwear; red briefs with a growing tent in the middle.

“You look rather smug,” you said, feeling emboldened enough to drag your nails over his collarbones. “Lose the underwear.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be quite the slavedriver?” he grinned.

You shrugged, watching him hop out of them. “Because I am?”

“Good.”

“We’re going to start off really slow, though,” you explained, leading him over to the bed and sitting down next to him on the edge. “I’ll gradually ramp it up a bit but if you need me to drop back a bit, just say: ‘yellow.’ Got it?”

“Got it.”

“And if it gets too much–”

“Red.”

“Red. Good. And please remember to use them. I want you to enjoy this.”

“I will don’t worry,” he said, looking you square in the eye. His cheeks were already flushed.

Before any second thoughts could creep back into the space between you and Roger, you rose to your feet. “And please remember not to touch me unless I ask you to.”

“I have a feeling you’re not going to give me much of a chance to,” he quipped, nodding at the cuffs beside him.

“You’re awfully lippy tonight,” you smirked.

“You make it too easy.”

“Maybe I should leave the slow start and skip to the good stuff.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Or,” you began, stepping forward, “I could make you suffer. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Roger didn’t say a word, but he did keen into your touch as your nails clawed down his neck. With one hand on his chest, you didn’t have to use much force to get him to sink backwards. “On your front,” you instructed.

He complied, folding his arms underneath his chin. His calves hung over the edge of the bed, toes wiggling in anticipation.

You bent down close to Roger’s ear. “Good boy.” The sensation of your breath on his neck made him jump, but you noticed his eyes closing and a sweet smile forming. The damage Betsy had done was still visible across his muscles; a reminder to go gentle on him. You wandered around to his other side and grabbed the bottle massage oil lying beside him. Not caring to warm it up, you drizzled some on his spine. He winced, trying to roll on to his side, but his movements weren’t quick enough. He was pinned. Under you. Straddling his hips, you found yourself in prime position to manipulate him exactly as you wished. But first, all you wanted to do was explore him – every inch of him.

The join between his neck and shoulder was a familiar spot. His own hands wandered there all the time. But, for some reason, yours felt better, kneading out knots caused by years of non-stop touring. That, along with the soothing scent of lavender on his skin, turned him to putty in your hands.

He might have fallen asleep like that, too, had it not been for you shuffling lower along his thighs, placing yourself within easy reach of the rest of his back. Using every surface of your hands in slow, agonising waves. Up and out, stretching him until he groaned, overcome with sheer bliss.

“I thought this was all about pain,” he said.

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth. “As much as I’d like to smack that glorious bottom of yours, I think you probably deserve this a little bit more. How does it feel?”

“It feels amazing,” he hummed. “I’ll be a new man after this!”

Impatience almost got the better of you the lower down on Roger’s body that you moved. So much so that you had to bypass his bottom altogether to keep yourself on an even keel. As much as you were dying to see him squirm and hear him beg, the buildup was even more critical. So you slipped off the bed and focused on Roger’s legs instead. Soft yet slender in your hands, you worked more oil up his calves and settled on the backs of his knees. Your fingers moved like feathers over those sensitive spots, coaxing a strained whine from Roger as he tried to squirm away from your touch. “If you don’t lie still, I’m going to have to restrain you,” you warned.

The curves of Roger’s back quivered with a sharp intake of breath at those words. Then he relaxed again. But not for long.

Moving up towards his thighs, you relished that unexpected softness. You weren’t massaging anymore; instead, you pressed the soft flesh, letting it pale underneath your fingertips. Roger’s thigh parted ever so slightly, granting access to the even more sensitive spots between them. His desire skyrocketed, arching his back when you clawed pink tracks up and down his skin.

“You’re getting needy, aren’t you?” you purred.

“Mmhm. Feels so good,” he said, swaying his hips.

“I bet it does.” A swift smack to Roger’s bottom had him rolling over on to his back. His cheeks were flushed and his breaths were cautious. He moved to cover his eyes with his arm but you quickly stopped him. “I want you to look at me.”

Roger’s jaw slackened but never once did his eyes leave you.

For all the effort you had put into loosening Roger up, his body tightened as you curled the fine hairs on his chest around your fingertips. Unable to even breathe, all Roger could do was lie beneath you, and watch.

And you took pleasure in observing his reaction. He adored your touch, you could see it in the way his pupils blew out every time he looked at you or the way his hips rolled up against yours. “I think I’m going to have to keep you still, Roggie,” you said, finally reaching his hips. You quietened down, lowering your voice to barely a whisper. “Would you like that?”

Roger looked like an angel – his beautiful thick eyelashes fluttered while his gaze shifted to you. The calloused pads on his fingers drummed against your stocking-clad thighs, unable to contain any patience he has left. “I think that would be a good idea,” he said with a contented smile.

“You’re smiling now, Roger. You won’t be later,” you said, removing yourself from him. Then you set about looping thick leather straps around his wrists.

His tongue poked out as he watched in awe, following every single one of your movements, binding him to the headboard. Removing all ability for him to get away from your onslaught. The delight in his smile grew when you straddled him again, just below his swollen, throbbing cock.

“Are you enjoying this?” you said, brushing your nails over his length, encouraging his hips to buck and roll into your grasp.

Roger bit his lip and nodded, allowing himself to be carried away by the much-awaited contact.

A sharp slap to his thigh jolted him back to his senses. “Use your words.”

“Yes, I love it.”

You gave Roger a sly smirk as you reached for the bottle of lube beside him. With the bottle held high, you allowed beads of the clear liquid to drip down. The freezing cold lube colliding with his skin had him straining against the cuffs, but he soon held still. One scalding hot glance from you made sure of that.

Apparently, he was the rebellious one in Queen, but here he was, docile and pliable. Doing anything to have his balls drained.

He wasn’t getting his balls drained that easily.

You used one hand, slipping his length through your grasp. “Let’s lay down some ground rules about how this is going to go, shall we?” you began, punctuating that with another pass over his cock. “You’re not getting off until I say you can. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he sighed, trying to bury the side of his face into the pillow.

You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “And you’re going to look at me the whole time.”

His voice faltered, glancing down at your hand gathering pace. “Got it.”

“If you come without my permission, you will be punished.”

Roger gulped, casting an eye over to the soft leather paddle beside him. “Will it hurt?”

“Depends on how naughty you are.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” he sighed. “Promise.”

You loomed over Roger, your noses practically touching. “And if you’re good, you’re going to get a little treat.”

“What kind of treat?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Oh god,” he whined just as your free hand joined the party, circling the swollen head of his cock. “I don’t think I’m gonna last long.”

“Well, you had better start begging.”

A laugh rose in Roger’s chest and he did his best a suppressing it enough to strangle out a feeble, “please.” As if that would convince you that he really did need release.

“I think you’ve got a little bit longer in you,” you said, finding your rhythm. The slick sounds of those smooth, purposeful motions, coupled with Roger lying underneath you, his lips slightly parted as he looked up with you made the heat between your thighs grow. You really wanted him there and then.

But this wasn’t about you.

And Roger was fast reaching the end of his rope.

You swore you had never seen his cheeks so red.

“Please, please please, I need to come!” he whined. “I’m so close! Oh, god, I’ll do anything.”

A dull ache throbbed in your wrists. But you were desperate to draw this out for as long as possible. It wasn’t what you planned, but it guaranteed your chance to push Roger almost to his limit. “Alright, Roggie, come for me.”

“R-really?” he stuttered.

“Come for me. Be a good boy for me.”

“Oh my god,” he grinned. His eyes closed. His hands grasped at the slats on the headboard. He was buckling up for wave after wave of pleasure to surge through him.

Except the waves didn’t arrive.

Roger’s eyes shot open with a whine. “What the fuck?!” he squeaked. His mind was too blurry to register that you were in the middle of tugging off your underwear.

Until your dripping wet cunt lingered just inches from his face.

“I just wasn’t convinced that you really wanted to come.”

“Well, I fucking did!” He was testing you. He had to be.

“Oh, really?” Your patience had worn thin. In one swift movement, you turned and plonked yourself down on Roger’s waiting mouth. “Well, fucking prove it. Show me how much you want it.”

Roger wasted no time allowing his tongue to explore every inch of you that his restraints allowed him to reach. He wasn’t even sure if he could get you off like this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t give it his best shot. After all, he was desperate to avoid another ruined orgasm. Ravenous, in fact; sucking and licking at your folds before turning his attention to your clit for a brief moment. And he was sure to let you know just how grateful he was to get to taste you. Every satisfied hum shot through your body, making your hips kick into motion on top of him.

“Finally a good use for that tongue of yours,” you remarked. Leaning forward, you began jacking Roger off again. “Let’s see if you deserve to come this time.”

He sighed against you. He wasn’t about to let another orgasm slip through your fingertips. He had to let you know he wanted it. Eagerly, desperately, his tongue swirled over your clit, gathering its own feverish pace.

Now you started to realise what all the fuss over Roger was about. You had never heard him be so quiet since you met him, and for good reason. He was an expert with his tongue both in an out of the bedroom.

But you were so fixated on that intoxicating feeling that you neglected your own duties. You looked down to find that your hand was no longer moving along his desperate looking shaft; just idly palming at it. He wasn’t going anywhere with that action.

So you made a conscious effort. Fighting against Roger, you got to work to bring him right to the brink of release. To the point where his moans made you squirm, and the muscles in his thighs tightened again. “Do you want to come for me, Roggie?” you moaned, grinding your cunt against his mouth.

He couldn’t speak. Of course he couldn’t. But that didn’t stop him trying to whine an almost convincing ‘please’ between circling your clit with precision.

“Come on, Roggie, come for me. Come for me,” you urged, grinding your hips with more urgency.

Just when you were about to allow it, Roger’s attempts at pleasing you stilled.

Just when he was about to get off, you let go.

You leaned back and rode Roger’s face. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” you scolded. “Keep going,” you urged.

Begrudgingly, Roger’s tongue darted over your clit again with the same steady pace in just enough time to stop you from coming down completely. But he made his impatience obvious, angling his hips to lure your attention back to his cock.

You weren’t going to bow to the pressure right away.

Why should you?

When he was this keen to please you, you were hellbent on letting him.

The sea of pleasure inside you raged. Keeping your balance fast became a chore. You gripped the headboard behind you for dear life, drawing your weight backwards. “God, you’re so good, Roger,” you gasped. “That fucking mouth!”

Roger moaned against you as you rode his face. He relished this as much as you did. He found himself absolutely addicted to your scent and the sounds you made. The way you moved.

Hunching over, you gripped Roger’s thighs as your own stiffened on either side of his face. Immobilised by the most intense, soaring bliss you had ever experienced, you were certain you were going to see stars after this. It felt like your body had shut down as it welcomed the electricity that pulsed through you.

Coming down, you were met by the sound of Roger trying to urge you off of him. You didn’t even know how long you had been out for. And here he was just dying to get off.

How selfish of you to neglect your new little plaything.

Sitting up straight, still straddling Roger’s face, you inhaled a deep breath in an attempt to gather your composure. Every muscle in your body felt like liquid as you moved, turning yourself around to get a good look at him.

He looked pleased with himself. His sickeningly pretty features were scarlet and glistened with sweat and arousal and all you wanted to do was kiss him. Just a little taste.

But you couldn’t. Feelings were out of the question.

“I think you really deserve to come, Roger, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a soft expression.

“I think you deserve a really, really big reward for being such a good boy,” you teased, swiping your thumb along his lower lip.

“I do. Thank you.”

Your free hand crept down to Roger’s cock again. Still hard and throbbing. “And you know that I only want to make you feel really really good?” No holds barred.

“Mmmhm.”

“Good boy,” you praised.

Even hearing that made Roger’s muscles twitch. “You’re not gonna do that to me again, are you?” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut. Bracing himself for disappointment.

“No, darling,” you soothed, “you can come as much as you like now. Any time you like.”

Roger must have sensed the change in your tone when you spoke, because as soon as you gave him permission, his whole body shook and the only words he could manage was a strangled, “thank you!”

He came down quickly; most men did. But what struck him when the fog in his head cleared was that you weren’t done with him just yet – even though he had to crane his neck to see you at the foot of the bed with your tongue gliding over the shaft of his cock.

“Oh fuck,” he sighed, throwing his head back.

“You didn’t think it’d be over that soon, did you? That would’ve been disappointing.”

“No! Just… just be careful!”

You couldn’t resist. You had to make him suffer even just a tiny bit. So, with a devilish smirk, you swirled an excruciatingly slow lap around the tip of his cock, savouring the last drops of cum that glazed it.

Roger hissed, but his hips told a different story – bucking wildly in time to your efforts. Pressing his cock into your mouth. “Fuck,” he cursed again.

With one hand, along with your mouth, you settled into another determined rhythm. Your hand worked his shaft, while your tongue tackled just the tip. Roger had surpassed the initial pain and was back to gazing down at you in awe. His teeth clenched together. His wrists tugging at their binds. But the sheer girth of his cock meant that it was only a matter of minutes before a dull ache seeped into your jaw if you so much as attempted to take any more of him in your mouth.

And it would take longer this time around for him to come.

Then you spied the bottle of lube nestled against Roger’s hip. The jewel in the crown of your new master plan.

Roger’s cock left your mouth with a pop, just long enough to check in with him before you proceeded. After all, his legs were still wild and free; you didn’t want to risk being kicked in the face. Some men didn’t take well to what you were about to do. “Do you trust me?” you asked, gazing up at him with wild eyes.

“Not gonna lie,” he puffed, “after all of this, I’m starting to have trust issues.” The broad smile he shot you told you he was joking.

You reached for the lube with your free hand and kept your sights trained on him. “I need to hear you say it though. I can’t make you feel really really good if I don’t think your heart’s in it.” He couldn’t see what you were doing, but he did strain to see what the suspicious click was when you opened the bottle and squeezed some lube on to your fingertips.

“I trust you.”

“Good,” you said, bringing your lips down on to the head of his cock again. Concealing what your free hand was preparing to do.

When Roger was safely duped into believing that your intentions were genuinely pure, you pressed a finger to his backdoor, massaging his tight, sensitive ring. At the same time, your tongue continued to flutter over the head of his cock. The new sensation had him mewling in delight. You never expected that reaction from him. Even the way he rolled his hips for leverage against your finger. Slowly you eased it inside him, right up to the knuckle. Then you curled it in on itself, seeking out his sweet spot.

“Fuck,” he purred.

“Feel good?” you asked.

“Better than I thought, god.”

You slipped a second finger inside him, applying just the right amount of pressure for his breathing to labour. Now was the time to take things up a notch. To put on a show for him. Taking as much of Roger’s cock as you could in your mouth, you made a point of making as much noise and as much mess as you could. Your spit made his cock glisten and pass through your lips just that little bit easier. Sometimes it overshot and caught the back of your throat. He seemed to love it when your mascara started to run.

“I-I think I’m gonna come again,” he groaned. He was beginning to tense up again; everywhere, including around your fingers.

You gave a pleased moan in response, not wanting to let up too soon.

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna–“

That orgasm had already rolled into another, not allowing Roger any letup. Your hand and your mouth were missing from his cock, but your fingers still pressed up against that one magic spot inside him. His legs continued to spasm alongside your efforts.

“Got another one in the tank for me?” you grinned.

“I think so,” he gasped.

“I’m gonna take these cuffs off you, Roggie,” you said, scrambling to your knees, fingers still working towards one final explosion of pleasure. “You ready?”

He nodded profusely. “Please.”

With one hand still preoccupied inside Roger, you stretched over him. You swore you felt the tip of his nose caress your chest. Your other hand unbuckled each cuff around his wrists, and, with him being the obedient little submissive he was showing himself to be, his hands didn’t go straight to your waist or your thighs. Instead, they draped delicately above his head with his elegant hands clenching into bony fists.

You stroked his matted, sweat-soaked hair. “One more, darling,” you soothed.

Roger nodded. “One more.”

“Touch yourself for me,” you said, moving backwards to get a better view.

Roger groaned as his fingers tentatively wrapped around his semi-hard cock.

“That’s it. You look so pretty like this.”

“Fuck,” he whined. The fingers on his other hand raked through his hair, tugging at the roots to get a handle on the stinging sensitivity between his thighs.

“You can go a little bit faster for me, can’t you?”

“Yes.” He could, but he had to force it. He gritted his teeth and moved his hand quicker, with more purpose. In the back of his mind, he was sure his cock would never work again after this. Certain he never wanted to come again. And he definitely didn’t have enough energy left inside him to coax out another orgasm. But he still wanted to hear you praise him, to tell him how good he looked, jacking himself off right there in front of you. His whole body trembled, and his skin was saturated with sweat.

“You’re so beautiful Roggie.”

His hand moved a little bit faster. “Thank you.”

Your free hand trailed up his chest towards his neck. “You love coming for me, don’t you?”

Faster still. “Yes.”

You gave it a slight squeeze. Enough to quieten his moans for a moment. “And you love having that gorgeous arse of yours fucked while you do it?”

Even faster, ’til he could barely get the words out. “Mmm, I love it.”

You leaned in close to Roger’s ear. “Next time we do this,” you began, “it won’t be my fingers. I’m not going to go easy on you, Roggie. I’m going to put that tight little arse of yours through its paces and really make you squeal.”


	6. Comedown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning up and coming down from your first session with Roger, you start to think more about your feelings towards him. The pair of you also talk about what you want from your next encounter…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks!

You and Roger collapsed together in a sweaty, exhausted heap of intertwined limbs, racing hearts and air-starved lungs.

You couldn’t fathom why you suddenly felt so tired. Maybe it was the excitement of it all? But even gazing up at Roger depleted what little reserve you had left. “You ok, Roggie?” you whispered, giving his chest a nudge.

Roger’s delicate eyes fluttered closed and he hummed quietly.

You knew that for the time being you weren’t going to get much sense from him. Cleaning yourself up might have been the last thing you wanted to do. But the fog in your brain had started to dissipate, drawing your attention to the sticky, squelchy lube still clinging to your fingers. Cleaning up was a necessary evil. Propping yourself up onto your elbow, you shot him one more look. He was out cold.

Cocooning yourself in your own kinky bubble for an evening made it easy to forget that beyond the spare room, February’s bitter cold still raged. You padded towards the bathroom. Eagerness to wash the filth from your hands made you trip and stumble your way there and when the door closed and your back turned against it all, warmth swelled inside you again.

Gosh, he was beautiful.

As soon as that thought reared its head, you stuffed it back into the back of your mind. Three steps forward. Hands draped over the edge of the sink, a sliver of skin in the mirror caught your eye. A subtle twinkle on the backdrop of an inky black sky. You stared for just a moment as the water soared above the howling weather, hands rubbing together. Bubbles. Rinse.

All the while, that unbearable tension blossomed and bloomed.

You wanted so much more from him.

And the only thing stopping you was your own self.

Three loud raps on the door had you jumping out of your skin. You had been so sure – so certain – that you were alone with your thoughts. What if Roger heard? You did have a habit of thinking out loud.

“Are you in there, darling?”

“Give me a sec,” you called, giving your hands a shake that sent spray flying. When you opened the door, you found Roger shivering in the hall, lit only by a strip of pale moonlight on the edge of his form. “Are you alright?” you asked, smoothing his hair from his face.

He wrapped his arms around his torso in a bid to stop any more heat from leaving. His voice sounded so small. “I just wondered where you had gone.”

“Sorry, I– I thought you were asleep,” you blustered. “I’m just cleaning myself up…”

“I was just about to do that too. Feel absolutely disgusting for some reason.” The light in Roger’s eyes danced from left to right. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it. It… it was perfect. I loved it.”

Your palms fell on Roger’s biceps to calm him down. His skin was still clammy to touch. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He swallowed hard. “That’d be nice.”

“Come in,” you said standing aside. Ducking out into the hall, you flipped the light switch beside the door. Suddenly, the bathroom glowed in a sterile yellow that made Roger’s squint to acclimatise. You eyed him leaning back against the sink, still naked and dishevelled, for just a moment too long. “How do you want to smell after this?” you asked.

“Clean,” he chuckled.

You picked a bottle, any bottle, from the caddy next to the bath and drizzled its contents into the empty bath. Then you let the water come roaring down from the taps. “I’m going to get you some towels,” you smiled. Your eyes trailed down Roger’s body again. “And maybe a robe.”

Roger’s hands travelled south, preserving what little modesty he had left. “Thanks.”

“Back in a moment.”

“Don’t be too long.”

Roger groaned as he eased himself into the comforting blanket of bubbles. His eyes, unable to prop themselves open any longer, closed, and his head lolled against the cold tiles on the wall. After everything, this must have felt like heaven to him. Just like he looked like heaven to you.

It was hard not to feel like you should be tending to his every whim. So you sat down on the floor beside the tub. Reaching out an unsteady hand, you raked your fingers through his hair; it was thick and matted and still damp with sweat at the roots. Even still, a quiet smile formed on Roger’s lips, relishing the attention like he usually did. “Do you want me to wash this for you?” you asked.

His eyes shot open in a moment of horror. “Oh you don’t have to. Only if you want to. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Close your eyes for me.” Dampening Roger’s hair, you lathered it up into a soft foam.

He giggled, taking in the sweet scent. “Smells like bananas,” he said, leaning into your touch.

“One thing’s for certain, you’re gonna smell like a bloody fruit salad after this.”

“Why do girls’ shampoos always smell better?” he mused.

“Suppose everyone always expects us to smell like a freshly-cut bouquet.”

“You smell nice. You always do.”

“You’ve been spending the last few weeks sniffing me?” you asked, giving his hair a sharp tug.

“Ow! Maybe.”

“Who’s the pervert now?”

“Your hand was practically up my bum an hour ago!”

“Point taken,” you conceded. For a split second, your mind strayed, dreaming up everything you really wanted to do with him. “Right, time to rinse you off. Head back.”

When you were finished with Roger, he looked like a drowned rat with strands of bleach blonde hair glued to his forehead and the sides of his face. He looked even sadder when you leaned back and scrambled to your feet. A little helpless, even. And it still tugged at your heartstrings. “Where are you going?” he asked, flashing you a glassy-eyed gaze.

“I’m going to get some tea and toast. You look like you could do with something to eat.”

“It’s alright,” he said, batting away that suggestion with his hand in the air.

“Trust me. You’ll sleep better.”

He couldn’t hide that small smile of his. The coy kind that he reserved only for you. For moments like this. “You know best.”

You brushed your hand over Roger’s shoulder. “I’ll go and get the kettle on. You take as long as you need, Roggie.”

Alone with your thoughts for the second time that night, every noise seemed amplified tenfold, making you wince.

The clang of the rack going into the grill.

The hiss of the boiling kettle.

The tinkle of a teaspoon swirling in a mug.

Something was bothering you. You felt it draw at your shoulder blades and deepen the well in your stomach. The rushing sound in your ears.

You had been doing so well tonight. Enough to keep it all in at least.

Roger was waiting for you in the spare room, wrapped up in a fleecy, fluffy robe, half nodding off when you returned with a plate piled high with toast and jam and steaming hot mugs of tea. You sat the tray down between you both and observed him delicately pick at the crusts.

“How are you feeling, Roggie?”

“Much better,” he said through a mouthful of bread. His eyes returned to you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You took a swig of tea to gather your thoughts. You were having a lot of those tonight and you couldn’t quite put your finger on what was going to pour out next. “It’s always a bit of a learning experience when you’re doing this with someone new.”

“You sound sad,” Roger said, sitting upright. “Want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing,” you smiled. “I’m just a bit tired myself. Takes it out of you.”

“I can believe that. You were really going for it when you were… on me.”

Roger had reverted back to his usual self and it earned a giggle from you. That was exactly what you liked about him. He’d do anything to make you laugh, you were convinced. You tilted your head and wore a contented smile, studying him as he tore the crusts from another piece. “I really was, wasn’t I?” You said.

“It was incredible.”

You reached out and patted Roger’s shin, thumbing at the sparse hairs. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Reckon you’ll want a next time?” As soon as those words popped out of your mouth, you felt your chest burn, dreading Roger’s answer.

He nodded. His own cheeks had taken on a slightly redder hue. “You know how you said you were going to… stretch me out?” he choked through his toast.

You shifted to sit up straighter, eye level with him. “Yeah?”

“Did you mean it? W-would you do that?”

“Do you want that?”

“Yes, please. If you want to do that with me.”

“I’d love to,” you said, still absentmindedly stroking his leg.

“How would we go about it?” Roger asked.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

Roger shook his head.

“Come over to the shop first thing and I’ll show you.”

You and Roger went your separate ways shortly after breakfast and the hours just dragged on while you waited for him at the shop. You got there early and dealt with deliveries, continuing to work despite agonising tendrils snaking their way around your insides. You swore your mind had turned into a hamster wheel, churning out an endless stream of worst-case scenarios about how this was going to go.

Would you be honest?

Play it cool?

Stick to the script and stay in character?

Your eyes didn’t budge from the clock; the hands barely moved, much like you trying to reach a decision.

Roger robbed you of those final precious moments of thinking time, showing up at Kicks ten minutes early, cosied up in an oversized fur coat, his red cheeks and dark sunglasses just visible above the collar.

Rushing towards the door, you and Roger collided in a nervous hug. “How are you feeling?” you asked him.

“My muscles are in agony today,” he smiled.

“You have muscles?”

Roger chuckled, giving your arm a swat. “Right, show me what you’re shoving up my arse!”

“I’m glad you asked,” you began, wandering over to the cash desk. “Get your coat off, pull up a pew. I’ve got a few things here to show you.”

Roger did exactly as you told him and couldn’t peel his eyes from your movements as you assembled a row of plugs on the desk in front of him. They started small and gradually got larger in diameter. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth while you completed the set with the largest one – for now. Then he raised an eyebrow. His baby blues shot from the toys to you and back again.

“So what do you think?” you asked, shifting on the stool.

“I–I’m excited,” he croaked.

“I’m going to give you a week,” you began, leaning forward. “And what I want you to do is use these every day. Start small and slow with lots of lube. And when you’re comfortable, size up, wear them for longer. Maybe try sleeping with one in. How does that sound?”

Roger’s jaw slackened. “So just wear them around the house?”

“See what works for you. You could make it more fun if you want. It might make you feel good to edge yourself a few times a day using them.”

Roger’s eyes widened and his back straightened. “That sounds more interesting.”

“Are you up for a week of not being able to come?” You said. “Think you could handle it?”

For a moment, he seemed to have second thoughts about your suggestion, unsure of whether he really could go a whole week without release. Then he bolstered himself, his usual cockiness overriding his reservations. “Definitely. I could definitely do that.”

“I’ll have to punish you if you disobey me.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“And I’ll be checking in on you every single day.”

“Sounds excellent if I get to talk to you every day,” he said with a wink.

God, why was he like this? Charming and cheeky and utterly disarming. You had to fight to stay in character. “I can’t wait to see what that arse of yours can do,” you blurted.

Roger leaned back and puffed out his cheeks. “Fuck.”


	7. Lessons in interior design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the night Roger’s been training for! Can you continue to keep your kinks and your feelings separate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this one :) This is the chapter I feel like *everyone's* been waiting for and I love it so much!

Tugging the zipper on your makeup bag, you stared across at your reflection on your wardrobe door. Hair up in rollers, rogue sparkling away on your lips, your silk robe draped over your shoulders. Your skin still glowed from a flaming hot shower. You looked good, though, you reasoned to yourself above your heartbeat surging away in your ears. With trembling fingers, you jabbed out Roger’s number.

“Hello?” Roger’s voice wavered over the line.

“Hello, Roggie. Ready for our playdate?”

“Yeah… about that,” he began.

That was the starting gun and your mind was off to the races.

“I’ve been really bad,” Roger admitted, with the kind of sly intonation that made him sound like he was sharing a sordid secret with you. “I–I… I came last night.”

You sucked in a heavy sigh of relief, but before you could talk, Roger was back at it, explaining himself.

“You see I managed to take the biggest plug while I was… you know… and it just sort of popped in. I couldn’t help it.”

He sounded rather pleased with himself. “Well, you know I’m going to have to punish you, don’t you, Roggie?”

On the other end of the line, Roger swallowed hard, feeling his breathing cripple in an iron fist around his lungs.

“Don’t you, Roggie?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be over in an hour,” you began. Your tone could have carved stone. “I want you waiting on your knees with your back to the door. Bottom in the air. I want you naked and lubed up with that plug inside you. Keep the door unlocked. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

As soon as you hung up, you cast an eye over to the duffel bag at the foot of your bed. You had crammed it with all the accoutrements you needed for another night with Roger, plus clothes for work the next day. But you never banked on having to pack something to punish him with. He was always so eager and obedient any time you checked in on him.

Leaning forward, you pulled open the drawer at the bottom of your wardrobe. You liked to keep these items separate from the ones in the cabinet at your bedside.

Drawing your fingers over all the torture instruments at your disposal, you wondered about Roger’s pain tolerance. He was so slight that you wondered if he really could take anything more than a flimsy little riding crop. Canes and whips and floggers were out of the question. For now, of course. You wiggled your fingers just a bit more.

There it was.

Exactly what you had been looking for.

You were going to wear gloves, the elbow length vinyl ones that were draped over the bed frame with the rest of your outfit. They would be enough to dull the pain but still pack a punch. Chewing the inside of your lip, you closed the drawer.

And then you snatched it open again.

On second thoughts, you couldn’t guarantee your hand would be enough for him. After all, Roger was stubborn. He had fight in him. What if he misbehaved again?

In a second of pure sadism, you laughed to yourself as you picked up a small and supple leather paddle. That would be perfect.

Looking at the clock beside your bed, your eyes bulged. Somehow you had managed to waste ten whole minutes and you still needed to get dressed, and drive to Roger’s, and allow yourself some time to gather your composure once you got there.

You cursed under your breath and jumped to your feet.

Grabbing the bottle of talcum powder from your washbag, you patted some powder over your stomach and your thighs. You had big plans for your outfit, but if even a hint of sweat or moisture stuck around on your skin, that plan would become very very difficult for you. You held up a pair of shiny black hot pants to assess just how much sucking in your had to do to hike those up. “Here goes nothing.”

It turns out the shorts were the least of your worries. When you had slipped into your sheer red bra, your fishnet stockings and then your vinyl gloves, the time came to put on your boots. They rose to your knees with heels that lifted you up to the sky. But it had been a while since you had a chance to wear them.

Maybe it was you? Maybe the zipper was just stubborn? But you definitely broke a sweat by squeezing into them. And you wasted another ten minutes doing just that.

So, all dressed up like a devilish Wonder Woman, you slipped on your coat, grabbed your bag and hurried out to your car.

A disconnect between your gut and your brain nearly landed you in an accident or two on the way to Roger’s place. You struggled to keep your eyes on the road as came in waves. But when you arrived and the car came to a halt, it was a struggle just to breathe.

Focusing on the reflection of your eye in the rearview mirror helped. Blinking slowly, lined with heavy black eyeliner. When you calmed down, it travelled from the mirror to Roger’s door and the dull glow coming from the stained glass window up above it.

All the houses on the broad suburban street were dotted safely apart. No risk of curtain pullers here. That was a bonus, you thought, stepping out of your car. You grabbed your bag from the boot and looked around again. Not a soul in sight.

He must be rich – richer than you even dared to imagine – you thought, tottering down the winding path in his front garden. Neatly trimmed shrubs and exotic looking plants shone through the darkness, and you couldn’t get over the sheer enormity of the house itself. You counted three floors, but your neck couldn’t crane your neck far enough to verify that. You cast a glance back to your decade-old Ford Escort sitting at the side of the road. He was definitely too rich for you.

Bolstering yourself for what was waiting for you on the other side, you reached for the handle, taking a deep breath. Your eyes widened when you realised that Roger had left the door unlocked. That sparked an unbearable curiosity and one swift push later, the door was open; the sight that greeted you took your breath away.

Without a word, you stepped inside on unsteady legs. All while Roger kept still on the floor, waiting for you to greet him.

“Good boy,” you whispered, giving his hair a ruffle as you breezed past him, shrugging out of your coat as you moved along. The hall was quaint, decorated with dark wood and ornate rugs on the floor. You pointed towards the room on your left. “Is the living room through here?”

“Yes,” Roger said.

“Good. Follow me. On your knees.”

With every move that Roger made, his muscles seemed to contract and tense in a strange mix of anticipation and the draught from the hall seeping into his frame. The wooden floor bore into his knees, making crawling even more uncomfortable for him. He barely kept up.

Perching on the edge of a chesterfield sofa, you gave Roger a moment to catch up. His head was bowed as he tried to maintain his composure. But when he arrived at your feet, he looked up at you with big, sad eyes.

Curling one of your vinyl clad fingers under Roger’s chin, you kept his sights set firmly on you. “Are you going to be good?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Ok,” you said, sitting back. You patted your thigh. “Over my lap.”

Roger scrambled to his feet for the first time in almost an hour. Unsteady and unsightly, he flung himself over your knee, facing the floor.

He was light as a feather but he had more than enough to grab on to at the back. “Do you know why I’m punishing you, Roggie?” you asked, unable to resist pawing at his soft backside.

“I–I disobeyed you,” he began. “I was supposed to go a whole week without making myself come. And I disobeyed you.”

“I’m so disappointed in you, Roggie.”

Roger fumbled at the top of your stockings. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to go easy on you for this. You’ll have to work for it.”

“I know.”

“But, if you want me to stop, what do you say?”

Without hesitation, Roger spoke: “Red.”

“Good. You ready?”

Roger shuffled on your lap in an attempt to get comfortable, but he quickly realised it was no good. There was no comfortable position. Not like this. You felt him give up; his muscles relaxed. Resigned. “Ready.”

You started hard. One swift stinging swat to his cheeks to test the water had him hissing. “Remember, if you need me to stop just say–“

“Red, I know.”

“Oh, he has an attitude,” you cooed. “You know, I was going to ease you into this, but now I don’t think I will.”

Before Roger could respond, you doled out no less than twenty strikes, with one arm around his waist to keep him still as he fought for control over his movements. His skin burned, but his cock pressing up against your thigh told a different story.

“You’re.”

One smack.

“Not.”

Another smack.

“Supposed.”

Another one.

“To be.”

And another.

“Enjoying this.”

Roger’s backside was painted with pink handprints, but he was stubborn. He wasn’t showing any signs of remorse. Not even a single ‘ow.’ You had to be sure he wasn’t just gritting his teeth to get through this. You had to test his limits.

“I think we should take this up a notch, don’t you, Roggie?” you said, prodding at the base of the plug he was wearing.

“N-no!… Yes.”

“At least you followed that instruction, didn’t you?” You gave the plug a twist and then pulled it ever so slightly until the metal bulb inside him became visible. That was enough to elicit a moan from him. And for you to refocus on the task at hand. “Didn’t you, my little slut?” you repeated with another smack on Roger’s bottom.

“Yes, yes. Fuck.”

With one arm around Roger’s waist, you reached down with the other to unzip your bag. You fumbled around inside it, searching for the paddle from earlier. “This ought to get to you squeal,” you said, gripping it firmly. “After all, you’ve been very naughty.”

“I know,” Roger’s voice wavered.

You brought the paddle down on Roger’s bottom ten times in quick succession. Each and every whack punctuated with whimpers from him. He was starting to break. Then you paused, admiring your work. A pattern of bright scarlet blotches all over his tender little rump. “My, my you sound pretty when you whine, Roggie. Is it getting too much for you yet?”

“No,” he scoffed. “I can take it.”

You chuckled. “Right. Twenty more then and we’ll see if you’re still a brave little bitch.”

“Oh… FUCK!” Roger hunched over, grasping at your thigh for some semblance of relief.

“You’ll never learn if you don’t take it.” Your tone was cold, cracking the paddle down on his soft, sensitive flesh. “Ten fucking more,” you hissed. “Count for me.”

“Fuck,” Roger whined.

“It’ll be quick. I promise you. Just ten more.”

Sure enough, Roger counted the final ten strikes without missing a single one. Although tears did make an appearance by number five. And he could barely speak by number ten.

And when it was over, his skin was dripping with sweat. His body felt limp as he sniffled into your thigh.

In the moment, discipline always felt so cathartic for you and any sub you went through that with, but afterwards, the guilt you felt was always so overwhelming. First and foremost, you didn’t want his sweet derrière coming up in welts. You didn’t want to prolong the pain any longer. Grabbing the tube of ointment from your bag of tricks, you applied some to Roger’s skin. You could feel the burning of the swollen scarlet marks as you worked it in.

Roger still whimpered and squirmed. You swore you felt tears trickle down on to your leg.

“It’ll be over in just a second,” you soothed. “It’s ok.” When you finished up, Roger’s body was still limp enough that you could pull him upright to sit on your knee. You wrapped your arms around him, trying to transfer some heat from your body to his own and swept the tears from his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

Roger lifted his hands to his face to take care of the straggling tears. “I’m ok.” Then he laughed under his breath, a small smiled formed at the corners of his mouth. “That was intense. I don’t think my dick’s ever been this hard.”

“I think you’ve earned a reward after that.”

Roger’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning in closer to him. “Do you want to show me what that gorgeous arse of yours can do?”

Roger nodded and grinned. “Ok.”

You had to race to keep up with Roger as he led you upstairs towards the bedroom. That struggle was compounded by the lack of light in the staircase and down the hall. Luckily, Roger arrived at his bedroom and flipped on the light, looking back at you rushing towards him, duffle bag in hand.

“On the bed, slip a pillow under your hips, spread those legs,” you grinned, dumping the bag on the floor.

“Christ, you’re not fucking around, are you?” he quipped, flopping backwards. He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed and eyed you rummaging around for his reward.

You sensed this and glanced up at him. “Touch yourself for me. But don’t come just yet.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Averting his eyes, he wrapped his hand around the shaft of his cock and started gently stroking it. He listened intently to you unpacking everything you needed to put him through his paces. But even with the distraction, it took mere seconds before his muscles tensed. Especially around the plug still inside him. He had to take a breather.

But that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Not while you stood at the foot of the bed donning a bright red strap-on that sat just inches away from Roger’s bottom. “You’re so pretty like this,” you purred. You slipped your fingers underneath the base of Roger’s plug and gently pulled at it. At first, his muscles resisted and the plug shot back inside him. He groaned at the sensation. “You like that?”

“Yes,” he sighed.

His eyes couldn’t meet your own, but now wasn’t the time to push him too far. For now, you revelled in how angelic he looked with his red cheeks and bashful mannerisms having all of this done to him. Letting you do this. You pulled at the plug again, this time further out. He clung to it at its widest point in an impressive stretch that showed you just how much he had been practising since the last time you met. “I love seeing that gorgeous arse of yours all stretched out for me, Roggie. You’ve really been working hard. Training yourself to take my big, hard cock, haven’t you?” You let go of the plug again, and sure enough, Roger sucked the plug back inside.

“Every day, just like you told me,” he sighed. He started to jerk himself off again. “And I loved every second of it.”

“I think you deserve a big reward, don’t you?”

His eyes were still closed; you could tell he was engulfed in sheer bliss. And you were only getting started. “Yes, please,” he smiled.

Finally, you eased the plug all the way out of Roger with a pop. Then you replaced it with one well-lubed finger, pushing in right up to the knuckle. “Look at this beautiful little hole. Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

“Ok,” he nodded.

Another finger joined the first, curling in on themselves while Roger worked his hand over his cock. But that didn’t earn enough of a reaction for your liking. So you added a third. Roger’s lips parted with a quiet moan. “Feel good?” you asked.

“So good.”

“Another?”

“Try it,” he said.

With a healthy amount of pressure and a hefty dose of lube, your pinkie joined the rest of your fingers, fucking Roger. “Fuck, you really like being stretched out like this Roggie.”

“I love it,” he purred, arching his back against your movements.

“Are you close?” Your fingers curled with renewed purpose, hoping for the answer you really wanted. His own hand certainly travelled faster.

Roger couldn’t speak. So he nodded.

And then, you withdrew your fingers.

Roger let out a pained whine at the loss of contact. Suddenly his hand just wasn’t enough.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Roggie?” you pouted, peeling back your gloves from the arms down.

“Please put them back inside me,” he begged. “Please!”

With your gloves discarded on the floor, you loomed over Roger. Your fingers wrapped around the red dildo between your legs, spreading a generous amount of glistening lube over the shaft. “I can give you something better,” you smirked.

“Please get on with it,” he huffed.

With a devilish look, you grabbed Roger’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Your other hand pressed your rubber cock against his entrance. “You want it?”

“Please.”

“Tell me how much you want it. What do you want, Roggie? Use your words.”

He couldn’t look at you. Instead, he screwed his eyes closed and turned his head away. “Fill me. Fuck me. Anything. Please.”

“Alright, Roggie,” you soothed, easing into him. “Just relax.” You kept your eyes trained on Roger’s face for any inkling of discomfort or apprehension. But that never came.

Instead, Roger’s jaw slackened as you bottomed out. A delicious, warm fullness swelled inside him. He didn’t strain against your grip on his wrists and he didn’t need to touch his cock for him to climb that tense slope at an achingly slow pace again.

“Feel good?” you asked.

“Amazing.”

“I’m going to start moving now, just let me know if it hurts.”

“Ok.”

You leaned back and pulled away from Roger. Your hands trailed along the backs of his thighs before hiking them up high around your waist. Roger was utterly exposed to you in every sense of the word, but he didn’t mind. As your thrusts began, slow and shallow, his hips rolled to meet yours. Finding a position that worked for both of you. His arms stretched out above his head, reaching to grasp at the pillows for something – anything – to help him keep his grip on reality while you gathered pace. Purposeful, unrelenting pace.

You knew Roger was proud and you knew he didn’t do ‘vulnerable’ and there was something about seeing him so unhinged and so undone that made this even more special. He didn’t even need to say a word for you to know that. And he looked so beautiful just lying there taking your cock, being lavished with all the attention his heart desired. And you needed to be closer to him again.

You leaned down, pressing your body close to his as you continued to fuck him. You could feel his heart racing away in his chest and every moan rattle his ribs. And his fingers. Tracing your shoulderblades as he held you close to him.

Tighter. Then tighter still.

Your breath caught the mist of sweat along his collarbones, making him shiver when you spoke. “Close?”

“Please keep going,” he begged through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Roggie,” you reassured. “Not until I see you come.”

Roger’s lips curved, safe in the knowledge you wouldn’t rob him of the pleasure he so desperately chased. Even if you wanted to, Roger was too far gone. Over the edge. Bathed in absolute euphoria.

Roger returned to his senses with you nestled into his chest. You watched over him, trying to search for any sign of pain or discomfort. But all you found was a look of sheer satisfaction.

“You look exhausted,” you said, stroking his chin.

“Feel exhausted. And disgusting.”

You laughed and gave his chest a gentle pat. “I’ll go and run you a bath.”

Stepping into Roger’s bathroom felt like a shock to the system. Equal amounts of opulence and tackiness, just like Roger’s fashion sense. Green marble and gold accents. A deep tub lined with bits and bobs in stylish, expensive-looking bottles. You knew the drill, though.

Bubble bath.

Water.

You left it to run and ducked back into the bedroom to find a sweaty, bedraggled Roger bundling robes and towels into his arms.

He peered at you over the thin gold rims of his glasses. “Are you sticking around?” he asked. “You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Plenty of space.”

A nerves crept up your chest as you tried to croak your words out. Sure, you had packed a change of clothes, just in case, but you didn’t bank on Roger actually wanting you to stay. “I’d love to.” Before Roger had time to respond, you continued. “I better go and check on your bath.”

You had already peeled off your shiny sexy getup and hopped in the shower when Roger came through, but you had yet to switch it on. Your hands flitted between the two gold dials on the wall. This wasn’t like your shower back home.

Roger’s voice made you jump out of your skin. “The left one’s for temperature, and the right one’s for pressure.”

You turned around, trying your best to cover yourself with your arms. He hadn’t fully seen you naked yet. Your jaw was slack from the horror. “What was that?”

Roger obviously got a kick out of your predicament. He had poked his head into the cubicle to speak to you, but he lingered there just a second too long for your liking. With bright eyes and a fiendish smirk. “I said the left one’s for temperature and the right one’s for pressure. Start slow with the right one, and maybe cower in a corner while it warms up,” he laughed.

Gingerly turning up the dial on the right – just a single notch – the ceiling dumped an icy deluge right on top of you. You shrieked, trying to cover your body with your arms again and turning away from the shards that fired at your skin. Through the cubicle, you could just about make out a smile on Roger’s face as he observed you from the bathtub. He had to lie facing you, didn’t he?

“I told you to start slow!”

“I bloody did,” you said, turning back into the stream. Thankfully, strands of warmth trickled into the downpour. But it just wasn’t enough for you. So you reached for the dial on the left, ratcheting the heat all the way up. The temperature change took forever to kick in, but when it did, it went from bearable to the fiery depths of hell before you had the chance to react to what was happening. Again, it made you yelp and cling to the steamed up panels. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you hissed, slinking your hand along the wall towards the dial again. Eventually, with a lot of patience and only minor scalding, the shower allowed you to bathe comfortably. Now all you had to do was find something to wash the night’s dirt and grime off of you.

You didn’t have to look far. A small golden dish was fixed to the emerald green wall with a purple bottle on top of it. Turning the bottle in your hand, you read the label, smiling as you did. Maybe you’d smell like Roger if you used this? He always smelled like heaven; lavender and rosemary.

And he had the cheek to call you out on your banana shampoo.

You squeezed a dollop of the silky liquid into your palm and lathered it over your skin, allowing the scent to unravel all the knots in your muscles and your mind. Visions of what had happened between you and Roger barely an hour before hijacked your imagination and you couldn’t help but give a satisfied hum as it all played out. There was nothing you would have changed about it. But the lower your hands travelled, the more your awareness returned. You could feel Roger’s eyes focusing on you – as much as his eyesight allowed.

Peering over your shoulder, sure enough, you found him with his arm resting on the side of the tub, and his face propped against his hand. His sleepy eyes followed every single move you made with a look of soft, dreamy lust. And that hit you right between your thighs.

Your gaze shot forward and it stayed there while you rinsed the suds from your skin. You couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge that Roger was watching you. Again.

When you shut off the water and stepped out of the cubicle, your trembling legs took you over to the chair beside the bathtub.

Not once did Roger peel his eyes off of you.

You took a towel and wrapped it around your body, then you looked down at him. Still wearing a smug but content expression. “What’s the matter with you?” you purred.

“You look nice.”

“Don’t get too amorous.”

He huffed. “Last time I pay you a compliment.”

Without saying a word, you ruffled his hair and gravitated towards the mirror opposite the shower and the tub. It spanned the entire width of the back wall. When your features came into focus, you were startled by what you saw. You could handle the grey wisps of steam dancing off your scorched skin, or the way your hair fell flat and clung to your face. But you made one grave error in your haste to shower. Your makeup slipped your mind. And now, you looked like Ronald McDonald’s meth-addicted cousin. Black spikes splayed from your eyes and a red grin spread from cheek to cheek. “I look nice?” you said, glancing at Roger. Unable to contain a giggle.

He looked you up and down. “Well… everything south of the face.”

“Take it you don’t have wipes or anything?” you asked, circling your finger around your face.

“Soap and water, darling.”

You shook your head, turning back to the mirror.

Roger returned from the bathroom to find you sitting cross-legged on his bed. In the time he had spent in the tub, you had commandeered one of his shirts to sleep in and the sight of you like this, with your damp hair and dewy skin, almost made him forget how to breathe. “You really do look nice,” he said quietly.

He had barely got your attention, standing in the doorway, swaddled in an oversized bathrobe, but his words were enough to scorch your cheeks and your chest even more than the shower did before. “You think?” you asked. You had tried so hard not to sound needy or dumb. Now you just felt the overwhelming urge to backpeddle furiously. “I mean… yeah, thanks.”

Roger sat down at the foot of the bed and studied every detail of you over the frames of his glasses. His eyes lingered on his shirt. “Did you find everything you needed?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “The only thing I’m missing is a toothbrush.”

“Well, I might not have your make up wipes, but I do have spare toothbrushes. I’ll remember the wipes for next time.”

“Good.”

“I also have lots of wine,” he added, waggling his eyebrows enough to make you giggle.

“Wine would be lovely,” you said.

Roger heaved himself on to his weary feet and got as far as the door before he turned back to you. “Red? White? What do you fancy?”

“Something fruity!”

“Something fruity,” he repeated with a wink. “That about sums you up!”

The first bottle of wine went down smoothly. You and Roger danced around in his bedroom lit by golden lamps along the walls, with Springsteen playing on a well used tape deck in the corner. Dancing and laughing and focused wholly on each other.

By the end of the second bottle, balancing became impossible. You and Roger collapsed side by side. Out of breath, grinning wildly and looking up at the ceiling. Until Roger’s gaze shifted. You couldn’t see it. But you felt it. “You’ve gone awfully quiet, Roggie. Bum trouble?”

“I’m just thinking,” he laughed.

“About your bum? Is it sore?”

Roger rolled on to his side and propped himself up on his arms. “You know how you have those three rules?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve never really told me why you have them.”

You sighed, closing your eyes. Trying to visualise where to begin. “Right,” you said. “I had a really really awful boyfriend a while ago. A real manipulator. One of those guys that thought being dominant meant breezing past your safe words like they were nothing, or when ‘no’ means ‘hit me harder.’ It wasn’t good if I didn’t cry. And all of that just became my sex life for a year.”

Roger couldn’t look you in the eye. “I’m so sorry.”

“And the thing was,” you added, “He was the nicest person ever outside of all that. I loved him. But there’s a difference between getting kinky and getting off on beating someone up. So I suppose this is just my way of separating love and sex and feelings and kink. Setting boundaries. I know how amazing kink is and I don’t want to go without that. But I just don’t think I feel comfortable mixing all of that. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

Roger sensed the streak of sorrow in your voice. His fingers laced with yours and his thumb circled over the back of your hand. “Are you alright?” he asked, flashing you his baby blues.

Somehow, he always managed to melt your heart in lots of different ways. But right then, it was the way his glasses had slid down to the very tip of his nose and the way his eyes rolled off in different directions thanks to the wine.

“I think so.”

He rolled over on to his front. “Why am I not convinced?”

You laughed. “Do I need to convince you?”

Roger just shrugged and buried his face in his arms, his eyes peering up at you.

You couldn’t resist reaching out to ruffle his hair again, allowing the soft blonde strands to curl around your fingers. “I’m ok.”

“Do you need a cuddle?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows.

Without warning, you rolled on top of Roger; your chest pressed to his back. “You really are lovely, Roggie.”

A dull haze split the curtains; the first wisps of spring in the air. You turned on to your back, eyes fluttering closed again, and drank in that now-familiar scent on the duvet. Roger.

Your eyes shot open.

Where was he?

Sitting bolt upright, you searched the room for a sign that he wasn’t far away. But you came up blank.

A pang of disappointment turned to a wave of gratitude, though, when you remembered just how terrible you tended to look in the morning. Messy hair. Morning breath. Bare skin. Panic carried you into the bathroom to fix your hair, brush your teeth and maybe, if you were lucky, wash your face and steal some moisturiser.

Face and hair fixed, you wandered through Roger’s house. It looked completely different from the night before. Whether it was the dark or the anticipation, you hadn’t registered much about the strange house you found yourself in.

The garish ornaments that lined the window ledges in the landing. The way the carpet felt like you were treading on angels. Even the timeline of Queen’s escapades that punctuated every foot of the staircase. It all felt like another way of getting closer to Roger.

You wondered if he did the same thing when he stayed at your place.

Nevertheless, you were sure of one thing: Roger Taylor had questionable taste in interior design.

Downstairs, you paused in the hall to get your bearings. To your right was the living room. You had been in there. And on your left was the kitchen.

The growl of your stomach couldn’t be ignored.

The kitchen was even more outlandish than the living room and the bedroom and the landing and the staircase. Ornate floral tiles lined the walls and the wooden cupboard doors just clashed with the smoky marble countertop. Everything around you felt like was dialled up to eleven. Until you zeroed in on a scrap of paper sitting beside the fridge.

‘Morning!’ The scrawled note read. ‘Bacon sandwich under the grill. Hopefully, the tea’s still hot! Enjoy! PS: Bum’s fine, by the way!’

Your stomach growled again. You flung open the grill to find the most glorious bacon sandwich you had ever seen. Two rashers of crispy bacon trapped between two inch-thick slices of white, crusty bread. Dripping with golden buttery goodness. And it was still warm.

Chomping through your breakfast, you ambled towards the french doors at the back of the kitchen and looked out on the garden. A drop of orange was starting to spill through the trees along the bounds of the expanse in front of you. But that only held your attention for so long.

Three revs screeched out from the garage, and somehow you knew that was where you would find him.

After you polished off your sandwich, you quickly poured tea for two and braved the freezing February frost in just Roger’s shirt and your knickers. Running for your life towards the garage and trying your best not to waste a drop of tea. You’d need it.

Inside, Roger toiled away under the hood of a Mercedes, bathed in the orange glow from the paraffin heater behind him. His white t-shirt was smudged with oil and dirt and his hair stuck up in every direction. But he was still sickeningly beautiful, even at this ungodly hour.

“Morning,” you chirped, clutching the two mugs.

In a moment of surprise, Roger cracked his head off the bonnet as he stood up, sending the spanner in his hand crashing to the floor. “Sorry! Hi. Morning,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. A renewed sense of shock and awe washed over his features as you approached him. “You look nice.”

You rolled your eyes and handed Roger his cup of tea, but the burn in your cheeks chipped away at your calm facade. “Do I now?”

“You are.” Roger winked, lifting the cup to his lips. Then he got back to work on his car.

Perfectly content to watch him work, you hauled yourself up on the workbench behind you, cradling your cup of tea in your hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. Even though, in that moment, it was actually hunched over an engine ten feet away. “Why did you come back to the shop that second time?” you blurted.

“You made it impossible for me not to like you.”

“No, but why?” you pressed.

Roger straightened up again. With his back still turned, his shoulders dropped and he stretched his neck from side to side. “I guess,” he began, turning around, “I guess I came back because you know your stuff. You’re funny…” He trailed off, edging closer. “I don’t think you take shit from anyone. And,” he paused, shrugging, “I think you’re gorgeous.”

Your internal monologue screamed. Roger was far too close and he smelled far too good. And it took every ounce of strength you had not to topple backwards. “Oh,” you smiled. Your voice faltered. “Right.”

“I’m going to go for broke here,” Roger said, fluttering his eyelashes at you. “I’m pretty gutted that I can’t even touch you.”

You couldn’t resist pushing him. “Well, do it.”

Roger took one more step towards you, standing between your thighs. His scent was so intoxicating, you couldn’t resist trying to close the gap. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

You nodded. Focusing only on the blissful feeling of having him that close.

His fingertips brushed over your hips.

That stare of his sucked the air right from your lungs.

His mouth just inches from yours. “And now I can’t even kiss you.” He bit his lip, looking you dead in the eye. “That’s unfortunate.”

Without thinking, you grabbed Roger’s shirt at the chest and pulled him into you…


	8. British racing green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Roger finally give in to your feelings...

Roger moved swiftly. The weight of him almost sent you flying backwards as your lips collided for the very first time. Picture perfect and just like something from a film, sparks flew inside you. Between you. Everywhere.

You clung to him. Moved with him. In a delirious push and pull. Hands in hair. Trailing down each others’ bodies. Eventually, your fingers snagged in his belt loops in a futile attempt at stability. Roger well and truly made up for lost time. He grabbed your hips and gripped your thighs. Dragged his hands all the way up your body and clawed his fingers through your hair.

It felt like a delicious eternity before Roger broke away with his pink lips parted ever so slightly. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he giggled, trying to draw in a breath.

And then your eyes shot open. A fistful of Roger’s t-shirt in your hand, just about to tear it off. “What time is it?”

Roger slowly removed himself from you. His features dropped in disappointment.

Your heart felt like it had burrowed right to the bottom of your stomach. “Sorry… work,” you explained.

Roger nodded and held his wrist up high enough that he could just about make out the dials. “Half eight,” he said. “Do you still want to–“

Before he could finish that sentence, your lips were glued to his again. Hopping off the work bench, you walked Roger back across the entire width of his garage. Your hands roamed every step of the way. Until you reached the Aston Martin, tucked away on the far side.

Roger gave a few playful nips at your neck. “You like the expensive ones?” he grinned.

Putting on your best doe eyes, you fluttered your lashes and sat back on the hood. “I’ve always wanted someone to fuck me on the bonnet of a pretty car if that’s what you mean. And you had better get a move on.”

Roger bit his lip and tugged down his zipper. “Fortunately for you, this one goes pretty fast.”

You lay back and spread your thighs for Roger. His breathing hitched just watching you run your fingers over the damp spot on your knickers. Just waiting for him to make the first move.

“Fuck,” he sighed, throwing himself at you. One hand tugged your underwear aside, the other grabbed the back of your neck, keeping you nose to nose with him. “You really don’t fuck around.”

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers – unrestrained and eager to please – exploring every slick, damp fold. And then he found your clit. Circle after circle felt like lightning and forced you to bury your face in the crook of Roger’s neck. God, he smelled incredible. Smoke and petrol and a hint of sweat. You could have stayed like that forever. But Roger had other plans for you.

His other hand gently guided your head back. He paused, gazing down at you. “Are you sure you’re ok with this?”

Why did he have to do that? A pang of disappointment burned though your body. You needed him to keep going.

Roger pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m being serious here.”

“Yes, please,” you said. You grabbed his hand to try and make it move again. “Just keep doing this while you fuck me.”

Roger’s free hand wrapped around the shaft of his cock. Thick, veined and throbbing.

You looked down in awe as inch by inch Roger sank inside you while his thumb continued to tease you. Everything else in the room felt like it was spinning.

“Feel ok?” he asked, kissing the tip of your nose.

You kissed him back and nodded.

“Lie back for me.”

Easing yourself back, you wrapped your thighs around Roger’s body. He started slow, so slow that you felt every vein, every ridge. Every time his cock brushed against that sweet spot inside you.

You felt incredible; trembling and squeezing around Roger’s cock. So much so that he couldn’t stand up straight while he fucked you, or even focus on rubbing your clit any longer. He planted his hands on either side of your head and hunched over you, speeding up. His chest pressed against your own. “You like that?” he groaned, clawing at the expensive green paintwork.

“Yes,” you hissed. You couldn’t stop your hands from wandering between your thighs or grabbing his hair. When you were on the verge of truly sinking into another headspace, blocking everything else out, Roger took control again.

First you felt your toes touch the cold, hard concrete. Then being spun around. Soon enough you were face down, panting against the hood of his car. One leg propped up on the bumper. Roger’s fingers dug into your hips so tight that you were certain they’d leave a bruise. Every sound reverberated right to the rafters in the garage. Heated moans, and the echo of every sloppy, purposeful thrust. Delirium wasn’t far off. You could feel it building.

He was getting close too. You could tell by the way his teeth bore into the spot between your neck and your shoulder with a muffled, guttural growl. No words needed. He needed this as much as you did.

Towards the end, something snapped. You stared at your fogged up reflection as Roger finished inside you. But you just couldn’t let go.

He hadn’t even caught his breath or tucked his cock back in his jeans before you were back on your feet, keen to get back into the house to clean yourself up and get to work. He raked his fingers through his hair and squinted at you in the orange glow from the heater. “Did you…finish?”

You shook your head, and smoothed Roger’s shirt over your thighs. “I really should…” you trailed off, jabbing your thumb towards the house behind you. “…get ready. Work and everything.”

Roger held up his hands and took a step back. He seemed to understand.

You had only just stepped outside into the brisk morning when you peeked back over your shoulder. He stood there in the garage with his arms folded, watching you. He wore a bittersweet smile. You turned to him. “See you later?” you shrugged.

A glimmer of light returned to Roger’s big, sad eyes. “Sounds good.”

There was no other way to look at things. If Roger stopped tinkering with the Range Rover, then he would have been rallying the Aston Martin into town. But he didn’t want to look desperate. He didn’t want to take a mile when you had only just given him an inch. So he spent hours under the hood. Doing far more harm to his runaround than good. Poking at every detail of the last 24 hours in his head.

But he couldn’t get over how soon you left.

Had he gone too far? Too rough? Did he say something?

When faced with a problem he couldn’t solve, Roger’s rage reared its ugly head. Fortunately, that only amounted to hurling a spanner across the garage when his brain couldn’t handle any more.

Wiping his hands with a rag, he called it a day in the garage.

Thoughts of you lingered on him like your scent on his t-shirt, he couldn’t resist pressing it to his nose as he waited for the water in the shower to heat up. He needed to wash away the grime and reason his way out of this one; every stroke of his hand over his body made him burn with need and desire. Lathering the soap into his arms. Down his chest. His abdomen. His fingers curled through the wisps of hair down towards his half-erect cock.

Roger’s body felt heavy, burdened with need as he leaned against the wall. His mouth dropped open with a reserved groan when he thought back to fucking you in the garage. How touching you felt just like a religious experience; not that he believed in those. It was as close he’d get to one. His hand gripped his shaft tighter, trying to remember just how tight you felt and how you moaned for him. The scent of your hair. He screwed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, trying to paint as vivid a picture as he could. But the details were too fuzzy. All he knew for sure was that he wanted you even more now.


End file.
